In The Company of Secrets
by Dream Red
Summary: A set of recurring dreams provoke Harry to delve into the history of some of the most powerful wizarding families in order to begin his fight in the war. ABANDONED: note at top of chapter 61.
1. The Cloak of Smoke

**In The Company of Secrets**

By Dream Red

**Genre:** Adventure, Mystery

**Spoilers:** Yes, from almost all of the books.

**Warnings:** AU

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters in the books, the HP universe, or the majority of magical objects. All those belong to J.K.Rowling.

**Summary:** A set of recurring dreams provoke Harry to delve into the history of some of the most powerful wizarding families in order to discover information that he needs to uncover the mystery behind the Chamber of Secrets and begin his fight in the war.

**A/N:** This is an AU from the Goblet of Fire, with the aim of Harry eventually becoming independent and a little more savvy to the world around him. He will become Dark in much later chapters, but not Evil. Ginny features in this quite prominently, but there will be under no circumstances any Harry/Ginny. **Important **Also, due to a mistake on my part when I was writing this, I remembered the Goblet of Fire as being his fifth year, which caused a rather large discrepancy in the plot and isn't fixable. Try and pretend Harry had a quiet and peaceful fourth year instead. **Important**

**---**

**Chapter One: The Cloak of Smoke**

---

It was dark. That much was certain. As if from far ahead of him, he could hear the dripping of water falling from a great height. It echoed and reverberated around the walls. Harry knew that they were rock, because one of his hands rested against the cool stone, while the other hung limply at his side.

His first stumbling steps were awkward, and he kept tripping on pebbles and stones that he couldn't see, but after taking a moment or so to get his bearings he lifted his feet higher, feeling for any obstacles in his way.

It was when he reached the cave-in that he remembered where he was. It was always the same; those first fumbled steps in the dark, the growing confidence in moving around, and then the realisation as his hands touched one of the smooth boulders that blocked his way.

He had the vague feeling that the Chamber of Secrets shouldn't have these rocks here, that the tunnel should be open. The passage would twist and turn, branching off in places that led to dark, damp dead ends before opening out into the vast underground cave he remembered so vividly.

It was in this time, when his hands still rested against the gentle curve of the rock, that he could remember what he was doing, why he was doing it. He'd come down from his room, following the sounds that he could hear in the pipes. He knew that he'd killed the monster, but somehow that felt separate, as if he were remembering something that somebody had told him a long time ago.

All he could do was follow the voice. He would come to the Chamber entrance, slide down, and make those first unstable steps in the dark. He'd gain his footing and begin to walk forwards confidently, but the moment he reached the cave-in his confidence flickered out.

He realised with a start that his feet were bare. Perhaps he'd been too distracted when he left the tower? He couldn't remember really. He got vague thoughts about an invisibility cloak, but those too faded, until all he was left with was the cool of the stone against his palm and the distant dripping, far off in the background.

---

In the small window on the second floor or No. 4 Privet Drive, Harry Potter stared out at the night sky, feeling his dream slip through his fingers like sand until all he was left with were a few fragments.

There had been times in his past when he'd been troubled by nightmares of Voldemort, or visions of shadowy enemies, but for the past seven weeks since he had returned to the Muggle world all he had dreamt was the same rapidly fading dream.

There was nothing particularly disturbing about the dream. He could remember the feeling of the uneven rocky floor underneath his feet, the cold humidity that hung in the air, and the sensation as his hand touched the smooth boulder in front of him.

It was the obvious lack of anything particularly disturbing that worried him the most. Of all the times he had had recurring dreams, there had been an element of danger, or fear, or even anger in them. In this dream though, there was simply a feeling of calm that hung over the void where his emotions usually were. In all his other dreams, there had been a sense of purpose, a feeling of destiny in whatever was happening. In this dream, he was there simply because he was there. There was no set purpose in mind, no tug or pull in a certain direction. He was simply there, feeling what it was like to be alive.

He did, however, have the nagging suspicion that he was missing something. There was something that began slipping from his memory the moment he began to wake. A detail so small as to be insignificant, that would throw the dream into perspective and give him some small clue as to the point of it if he was just able to _remember_ it.

With a sigh he reached up to adjust his glasses and run a hand through his hair in frustration. A glance at the muted glow of a cheap digital clock that lay beside his bed told him that it was roughly three in the morning. He always woke early these days. Generally, depending on how long he walked for in the dream, he would wake anywhere between three and five in the morning, and not be able to get back to sleep.

He was under no delusions about what keeping such hours did to him. His concentration and patience had narrowed down to a thin point where he was barely able to restrain from snapping and cursing his relatives. The days passed in a kind of lucid daze with periods of strained control in between, helped along by generous doses of the low-quality instant coffee his aunt bought.

When he actually bothered to examine his face in the mirror, he found that his eyes were dim and there were heavy dark patches beneath them. He hadn't been out in the sun so much this year, and the weather was decidedly more overcast than in the previous summers, so his skin remained pale. He'd never tanned very well before, but this year due to the lack of sun he hadn't even browned his skin. He had remained thin, and the fact that Dudley was still dieting did him no help. His ribs came into sharp relief when he stretched, but other than being on the small side, he was hardly dangerously underweight. The habitual cakes that the Weasley family sent, and the fact that he did very little besides the chores he was set helped him.

His birthday had passed a few weeks ago. He'd received a few gifts from his friends, and a hand carved owl from Hagrid. Molly had sent him a book on classic household spells, telling him that at some point he would find them useful. Sirius had sent him a book on pranks, and Remus had sent him a book on mapmaking after Harry had enquired about the Marauder's map. He'd found it more and more irritating after his years of use that the map didn't include several tunnels and rooms he had found. Besides, mapmaking was interesting to Harry. Frankly, the wizarding world seemed to have rather a deficit of comprehensive maps that worked to their full potential. Remus had been keen to help him after he explained his motives, and really, the Marauder's map could do with a bit of an update.

Fred and George written him an odd letter where they swapped the quill and ink between each other every few sentences telling him that as soon as he visited them in Diagon Alley they would give him his present.

Harry let out a sigh and reached forwards to unlock his window, opening it gently so as not to let its squeaks of protest disturb the sleeping residents of the house.

He caught a lung-full of cool air, refreshing him and shifting those final fragments of his dream from his mind. What he really needed, Harry decided, was a pensieve. Then he would be able to store his dreams as soon as he awoke. Briefly he wondered whether memories or dreams could decay in a pensieve in the same way that they did in his head.

It was coming up to the time when he would make his trip down to Diagon Alley. He'd arranged to meet the Weasleys there instead of having them pick him up this year, and despite Voldemort's resurrection Dumbledore had reluctantly agreed.

The first weeks of his summer had been spent in a haze of guilt and fear. It had seemed only too clear to him that his days of relatively untroubled youth were numbered. Cedric hadn't deserved to die, and it hung over him like a black cloud. He had inadvertently murdered the boy, all because he'd had some mad idea about fairness and equality, and he'd got him to take the cup at the same time as he did. But, his death had served a purpose. It had been driven home, without a doubt, that people were going to die. He'd known it already, in a distant, abstract kind of way, but it hadn't been _relevant_ before. He hadn't applied it to his own life, and examined what the consequences of him being the 'Boy-Who-Lived' could be. He'd wandered around with the horrible notion that those around him would start dropping like flies whenever he left the protection of his house for the first month of the summer. What if Voldemort came here? He might dislike his relatives, but they were the lesser of two evils. He wouldn't wish the kind of deaths that Voldemort's minions dealt out on anyone.

That was before the dreams set in.

One day, the nightmares of shadowy bogeymen and figures that shifted from Cedric, to Wormtail, to Voldemort, to Lucius Malfoy, all surrounded by a halo of green light and death became the dark, rocky tunnel, framed by the distant fall of water in the distance. The place that eluded his waking thoughts and haunted his unconscious ones. In the end, there had been no room for guilt, or Cedric, or Avada Kedavra when he was consumed with the persistent dream. Even Voldemort took a backseat ride. He looked through the papers because he had set himself a task of keeping an eye out for any signs of him, not because it had become some pressing need to _know_. There wasn't enough brainpower left for putting his full attention on Voldemort, not when he was so distracted.

When this year's letter had come from Hogwarts, he'd been informed that there would be Apparition lessons for those who wished to learn. Harry was sure he did. It would definitely save him a lot of trouble when he wanted to get to places on his own. It was also generally undetectable, meaning that he may leave a smudge of magic, but there would be no means of tracing him, and he wouldn't be locked in situations like the climax of the last year.

It would certainly be useful if Voldemort had hatched another plot for him, and he was sure that he would. Plots seemed the one constant in the winding road of his life. But really, that was the crux of the problem. Ever since his resurrection at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, there had been neither hide nor hair of the most feared Dark Lord.

Harry had been confused at first. He had subscribed the moment he had returned home, and now the Daily Prophet was delivered to him every day by owl, much to his relatives dismay, but there was not one story that might hint at the Dark Lord's return, although there had been plenty about The-Boy-Who-Lived-Only-To-Crack-Under-The-Pressure. He'd received several owls, a few angry, others telling him to get a grip, and even some offering advice on good wizarding counsellors.

However, one day, when he had been sprawled across his floor in the small patch of sunlight that shone in, he had figured it out. Of course the Dark Lord was laying low. What better way to gather supporters and carry out plans than under the public's very own nose? With a sigh, Harry shook his head a little; he was under no illusions about how difficult it was going to be to convince people that what he was saying wasn't the ravings of an attention starved, delusional boy, and he would have to if the public were to be ready when Voldemort did choose to reveal himself.

He was still pondering the problem when a soft swish of wings and a blurry shape at the edge of his vision made him start in surprise and duck his head, feeling an unpleasant queasy feeling as he saw the ground loom below him. It wouldn't do to fall out of the window. He could just imagine the headlines if a reporter like Rita Skeeter found out: BOY WHO LIVED DIES IN SHORT FALL FROM WINDOW! No. That definitely wasn't a good idea.

When he was quite sure that he had regained his balance, he turned to find a haughty looking owl perched at the head of his bed, a letter clamped in its beak and a big parcel tied to one leg. Frowning, Harry padded over and took the letter from it, unfolding the parchment.

'_Dear Harry,_

_I'm sorry that I'm so late with your present, but it took me awhile to work out how to use the right charm. I hope that your summer has been all right, and I'll probably be seeing you in Diagon Alley to buy my school stuff._

_I think you'll like my present, but no hard feelings if you don't,_

_Ginny_

_P.S. The owl is named Woodruff, and he was a present for doing well in my exams. He's quite proud, so don't insult him. Ron's still got the bites on his hand._'

Harry gently picked the string around the parcel undone before removing the simple brown paper. Inside was a book titled 'The Practical Creation of Charms' and a small bag that contained a note and a small claw with a loop through it. Harry looked at them in consternation.

'_You might not have heard of them, but dad told us that Muggles have something similar called 'lucky charms'. Unlike the Muggle versions, these ones are both lucky and magical, although they've come to be seen as rather superstitious. However, with your luck, you'll need them._

P.S. The one in the bag is one I made. It will protect you from any cuts getting infected. It's a bit of a random choice, but it was the best I could do. Perhaps you'll be able to figure it out better than I could.

Harry let out a small laugh. He remembered how one of Dudley's favourite breakfast cereals had run a limited edition of lucky leprechaun charms for a few months in leap year. He hadn't even imagined that there might be a Wizarding equivalent.

Careful to pack away all signs that he had been awake, and stowing the present with the others underneath the loose floorboard Harry settled onto his bed and began to read.

---

The day was very clear and chilled when he finally stepped out of the car. He'd managed to get Vernon to drive him here with the promise to be rid of him for the rest of the summer.

It didn't take him long to step into the Leaky Cauldron and order himself some lunch, as he'd deliberately arrived a few hours earlier so that he could do some of his shopping in private. It wasn't that he disliked his friends, it was more that ever since the dreams had begun, he found himself more comfortable when he was alone, or at least relatively anonymous in the crowd. Of course, he also wanted to buy some things that he knew either Ron or Hermione would manage to find problems with.

He was soon standing outside a small shop that read 'Sprite's Robes' and was situated just off Diagon Alley. He had discovered after a few years of frequenting the place that Diagon Alley actually consisted of a main street and several subsidiary alleys. Considering the bad experiences he had had the last time he'd bought robes in Madame Malkins, he thought of the small shop as a lifesaver. At least this time he wouldn't have to listen to arrogant blond purebloods prattle on to satisfy their inferiority complexes.

A small witch, whose nametag read 'Helena Sprite' greeted him as he stepped through the door, summoned by the tinkling of the bell above. The shop was quite dark, but had an air of cleanliness and modesty about it.

"Now young man, what can I help you with?" she asked efficiently. Harry responded by looking around the shop in curiosity.

"I need some new robes really. I attend Hogwarts, but the insignia shouldn't be that hard for me to spell on and off. I was looking for something a bit smarter or more durable than these," Harry gestured, holding up the slightly frayed and tattered robes. One corner of them had been singed where he'd fought the dragon last year, and he hadn't been able to repair them.

Helena in turn eyed them critically before returning her attention to the boy in front of her. He was reasonably tall, quite skinny and pale. The oversized Muggle clothes beneath the robes didn't do anything to dispel the feeling that he should probably be eating more than he did.

"You look like someone who gets into a bit of trouble," she commented. Harry could only nod and grin.

"The more durable robes are over here," she said, leading Harry further into the shop. "We have ones that are water-proof, dirt resistant, and…fire-proof…" she added, eyeing the singed robe critically.

Harry however, wasn't listening. He was gazing quite openly at a robe hung up in one corner that looked like it was made of black mist, curling and twining beautifully.

"Ah, I see you've caught sight of the Cloak of Smoke. I had a feeling that someone like you might like that," she said with a wink, walking over to cloak in question.

"It's beautiful," Harry stated, in awe. Helena just chuckled before handing it to him.

"Go and try it on. The changing rooms are just through the back. There should be a mirror there somewhere."

Harry nodded, feeling the fabric between his fingers. It felt smooth, but solid, heavier than he'd originally assumed. Exactly like he'd imagined smoke to feel. He was reminded of a fire that he had seen Hagrid build outside one year that had thick, grey plumes of wood smoke curling out of it.

Finding the mirror, he slung the cloak over his shoulders, watching as it settled, curling round his feet. This, he thought, is definitely something I'm buying. Smiling, he turned round in front of the mirror, looking himself over. His face had matured over the past year, and he'd finally lost the remaining fat on his cheeks, leaving his cheekbones far more defined than they had been. His glasses however, were exactly the same as they had been when he'd begun the school - battered and broken. Harry frowned. Perhaps it was time that he change them or look into correcting his eyesight. With the return of his all time nemesis, losing his glasses in a crucial situation could prove fatal.

"What do you think?" Harry was startled out of his reverie by Helena, who was now standing behind him with what looked like more Cloaks of Smoke in different colours over her arm.

"I like it. I'd definitely like to get one," Harry answered resolutely. "I'm curious though, are these actually made of smoke?" He asked, gesturing towards the material. Helena smiled at him.

"Yes. Awhile back one of our seamstresses and designers was creating a potion to resist water when she added the wrong ingredient and set it on fire. The smoke that came rolling off gave her an idea, and now, a few months down the line, we have the Cloak of Smoke." Harry returned her smile.

"They come in different colours?" Harry asked looking at the bundles of cloth in her hands.

"Yes. We should be broadening the colour range shortly, but at the moment all we have are shades of grey and this rather…lurid red." She uncovered a glaringly bright red, which Harry promptly disregarded. He may be a Gryffindor, but there was no reason to flaunt it like that.

"Are these fire and water resistant too?" Harry asked. The woman shot him a grin.

"Of course they're fire resistant. You can't set fire to smoke. The water was a bit more of a problem earlier on in the design. Just couldn't get the damn thing to work. Now though, you should be able to go out in torrential rain and stay dry."

After some deliberation, Harry decided to buy the cloak he was wearing, as well as another black one, a dark and light grey and one that was almost snowy white. Helena showed him another set of robes that had charms on them that made them look like they were fading out of existence at the edges, which Harry became quite taken with. In the end, he bought two sets of those as well.

"Now, the Cloaks of Smoke are quite changeable due to their design. If you want to draw them closed, all you have to do is pull it across and will it to stay closed. If you want it to open again, just concentrate and pull them open. If you want to make a hood, grab here," She indicated the back of the cloak. "Now pull, and it stretches into a hood. To put the hood away, just crush it back into the fabric while willing it to be one piece. The same goes if you want to lengthen or shorten the fabric a little. Luckily it only goes so far, so people can't go off creating whole reams of this stuff out of one cloak," She gave him an amused wink before turning to the other robes.

"Now, Dream Robes are a little less flexible. They have all the same fire repellent charms and such on them, but you can't stretch them in the same way as the Cloak of Smoke. You can alter how much they fade out though, again, you only have to concentrate and visualise what you want or they'll stay the same." Harry nodded in assent.

"For a little extra charge we can also place warming and cooling charms on them for summer and winter, as well as tear resistant charms. There's a book on how to weave charms and such into fabric that we sell, but most people don't tend to bother."

Harry thought for a moment before replying.

"Can I have all the charms you mentioned put onto them, and can you add the book to my pile?" Harry asked thoughtfully. He'd seen Mrs. Weasley using a charm to repair her children's clothes, and he wasn't planning on buying new ones for a long time. He just wasn't that type of person. It had taken some deliberation and a critical look in the mirror to convince him to stop wearing Dudley's rags and the robe he'd bought his first year at Hogwarts even. Knowing that, he'd probably be wearing these still when he was twenty.

"Right." Helena scribbled his orders down. "Anything else?" Harry grinned at her.

"What else do you have?"

As it turned out, the shop had quite a lot. Harry had decided that he now had enough robes, but was interested in the other things the shop sold, such as the clothes related jewellery that bore charms against various things, and an array of hats, gloves, scarves and boots. Harry guessed that there must be spells that increased the size of their cupboards, considering the shop couldn't possibly hold that much stock.

Harry bought one hat that turned invisible when he wanted it to, simply because the idea of an invisible hat was so absurd, and a few others that were simpler. He had turned up in time to buy the first in a range of Gloves of Smoke and Scarves of Smoke to match his robes. After much talking, Helena discovered a way to safely transfigure the scarf so that it showed at least one of the Gryffindor colours, even if it was only that garish red. Harry would need it to show his support at the Quidditch matches.

The boots turned out to be a bit of a problem, but after much deliberation, he settled on two pairs. The first were simply black and he was assured that they were very durable. The second came up to the knee and were insulated against the cold. Harry bought them after he remembered how icy it got in the castle, and how deep the snow was when it fell. It was about time he bought some proper boots. Harry was particularly pleased when Helena told him that there was a tricky little charm she could put on (for a small charge) that would stop water, snow and mud getting in the top of them.

Finally Harry perused the racks of trinkets that Helena had brought out for him. There were cloak pins, brooches, chains that hung from boots, belt buckles, cufflinks, bracelets and other strange items that she informed him could be woven into the fabric to imbue it with different properties. That, she told him, was all covered in the book he was buying.

In the end, Harry settled on two cloak pins, one of them was a silver basilisk that was semi-animate and he could give simple instructions to. The other was a brass lion, also semi-animate, that would hold part of his cloak in its jaws.

As for the pieces that could be charmed and then woven into the fabric, he bought a few of each. Some of them were small engravings or impressions depicting animals in wood, metal and bone. Others were things like lengths of chain ('for strength') and rolls of metal thread, or straw, or silk. He guessed he'd be spending longer on his friends' Christmas presents than usual.

When he was finally finished, Harry had quite a mass of items he was buying. He paid for it all when Helena had finished charming the robes and other fabrics for him. His next stop was to buy himself some clothes to replace the too big hand-me-downs. When he mentioned his dislike of Madame Malkins Helena had been only too happy to point him to a store that would sell what he was looking for, run by her sister, Ilene.

The shop was easily picked out by the name, 'Sprite's Clothing', and after introducing himself to the older and slightly sterner sister, she wasted no time in directing him to a few clothes.

Thankfully, Harry found that Wizarding fashion ran on a similar parallel to that of the Muggle world, and it wasn't too difficult to pick out some all right looking trousers and a few shirts in muted colours. Ilene, as it turned out, was more than happy to select most of his clothes for him, when Harry explained vaguely what he wanted.

However, if it had done nothing else, the Yule Ball the previous year had taught him that there were certain occasions where smart clothes would be useful. Therefore, with the assistance of Ilene Sprite, he managed to procure a few shirts in a slightly more expensive material, keeping to greys and coppers. He found it mildly embarrassing to be picking out a pair of well-cut slacks before Ilene told him to stop fretting, and stood him on a slightly raised dais to measure and outfit him. Finally, he added a nice long coat to the pile.

He was reminded of Ginny's good luck charm as he was paying for the clothes he'd purchased, but Ilene simply looked at him with a raised eyebrow when he asked her where he would be able to buy a bracelet or an ear piercing. With the use of a charming smile he had finally managed to goad her into telling him about the small tattoo and piercing parlour just down the road before bidding her goodbye.

He was just entering the parlour and whistling a light song that was running through his head when he noticed just who was in front of him.

"Bill!" He exclaimed, surprised. Bill looked at him in confusion before smiling back at him.

"I almost didn't recognise you Harry. You've really grown a lot from the little sprout I saw last time," He said with a grin. Harry couldn't help but grin back at him. After all, he was nearly the same height as the older boy now.

"Anyway," He continued. "What are you doing here? I thought you were off seeing that little brother and sister of mine?"

"I came early to get some stuff bought. You know Ron, he spends one minute in a clothes shop before deciding that he hates wizarding fashion and is going to be a hermit and live in the mountains," Harry joked, a little nervously. Strictly, he wasn't meant to have arrived early at all, but he was sure that Dumbledore wouldn't find out if he 'misread' the time.

"What are you doing here though?" Bill probed, looking suspicious. "You aren't getting a tattoo are you?" Harry promptly replied that he wasn't. "Hmm. Shame. I was coming here to get another earring done, although I'm thinking of getting a tattoo. Mum would blow the roof off if she knew though. She had problems enough with my _hair_, let alone something that permanent."

They talked for a moment, and Harry rummaged through his bag to show him the charm Ginny had made him, asking what he should do with it.

"Ah, lucky charms. They've gone rather out of use, but I'm not really sure why. I tend to wear mine on a necklace," He said, pulling the leather thong that had various charms knotted onto it out of the top of his shirt to show him. "But you could get a bracelet, or something to pin on clothes or a belt, or even an ear piercing. That would look good in your ear you know," Bill said, indicating the claw that Harry still had clutched in his hand.

Harry considered having his ear pierced for a moment, before blanching and quickly decided against it when the man who was having his done let out a deeply girly scream. Instead he decided to get a length of thin chain to hang it around his neck. Much better than an ear piercing, he thought. He finally bid goodbye to Bill, who was still perusing the earring selections and left.

---


	2. Back To The Burrow

**Note:** Due to a rather large mistake on my part when I began writing this, the Goblet of Fire is now considered _fifth_ year rather than fourth. Sorry for any confusion that caused, but changing it now would cause too many problems with the plot.

---

**Chapter Two: Back To The Burrow**

---

Having checked his watch as soon as he left the shop, Harry hurried off to meet his friends. He still wanted to get his eyes fixed and pick up a few books, but that could be easily done when he was shopping with the others. He would have to save his foray into Knockturne Alley for a later date. Ever since he had flooed there by mistake that first time, he had been half terrified and half intrigued by the place.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny were standing in the gentle sunshine outside the Leaky Cauldron when he rounded the corner. He was thankful that he had asked if the pockets on every robe could be spelled to have a weightlessness charm and far more space in them than physically possible or he would have been carting all of his shopping very heavily behind him, which would have forced him to field even more questions than he was already going to have to.

As it was, most of his purchases had been reduced in size and stuffed in his pockets, along with his luggage. He guessed that he must have made quite an impression, given Ron's open mouthed stare and the girl's appreciative eyes.

"Well," Hermione said primly, "you've improved your dress sense at least"

"Thanks," Harry mumbled.

"Where did you get them Harry?" Ginny said, looking at him with unveiled appreciation that would have made Harry blush were he not so pale.

"A little shop off Diagon Alley called 'Sprite's Robes', and another called 'Sprite's Clothes'. I'll take you shopping there for your birthday if you'd like." Harry said, smiling down at the redhead.

"Harry, you're my favourite brother." Ginny said, shooting a wicked grin at Ron, who was finally pulled out of his shocked silence.

"He's not even your brother!" he exclaimed indignantly before turning to Harry. "You look…fancy." Harry sighed. Part of the reason he had been reluctant to buy the clothes in the first place had been Ron's reaction. The redhead was predictably a mixture of envy and jealousy that Harry had the money to afford such things, but Harry was damned if he was going to carry on pretending he didn't by wearing tattered old robes and too large hand-me-downs.

"I got tired of wearing Dudley's old clothes I guess. Plus, by their sixth year, my robes were getting a bit threadbare. They were still singed from that dragon-fire in the Tri-Wizard Tournament you know," Harry replied blandly. He really didn't feel like arguing now. He had enough to do and buy as it was.

He went around a few shops with them, buying more parchment and a new quill from the stationers and some owl treats for Hedwig, who he'd already sent to the Burrow the day before.

Their next stop was the Ice Cream parlour, where Harry bought them iced creams as a placatory device for Ron, and a bout of generosity for Hermione and Ginny.

"Have you decided what NEWT's you're taking yet?" Hermione asked him, eyes bright as they ate. From the way Ron groaned Harry surmised that she had been doing this all summer.

"I was thinking of taking Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, the Mind Arts, and Potions. I was considering taking Herbology too, but I'm not sure if its not too much work." Harry mused. Hermione just nodded enthusiastically.

"You're lucky you did so well in your Potion's OWL or Snape wouldn't have let you in. It's a good mix though." Hermione replied, thoughtful. "I'm taking Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmacy, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Politics."

"Politics?" Harry queried, and Ron rolled his eyes at him.

"She's been going on about it for ages. Personally I can't see what the point is," Ron droned.

"Don't be silly Ron. You have to take Politics if you want to get into any Ministry job," Hermione huffed. Ginny grinned across at her over her ice cream.

"Going to be Minister of Magic then Hermione?" The younger girl teased, and Hermione blushed a little.

"I think you'd make a rather good Minister of Magic Hermione. Better than that idiot Fudge by a long shot," Harry murmured darkly.

"Well, it would be quite difficult to do worse than that man wouldn't it?" She replied with a small smile.

---

By the time they'd finished their ice creams Harry was itching to move again. They trailed out of the parlour and walked down the road exchanging stories and anecdotes, but they were still moving far too slowly for Harry's liking since the shops would close in a few hours. Still, he supposed that if he didn't get all that he needed to then he was quite capable of flooing back another day.

Their next stop was Flourish and Blotts, and Harry hurried to collect all the books he would need for school, dumping them in a pile on the counter to be tallied up before heading back to search out other reading material.

Making sure that none of his friends were watching him in the large bookshop, he climbed the stairs and headed towards the section that hosted darker books. It was located at the back of the shop, up in a far out of the way corner of the second floor. It was also suitable dusty and dimly lit. Harry found himself wondering whether it was a prerequisite of darker book sections to have the same atmosphere. Perhaps it was a not-so-subtle sign of what it was selling to alert the people who would be inclined to buy those books.

After a few minutes of browsing he had managed to find several on subjects that he'd wanted, picking out 'Mind Arts and Their Manipulations', 'An Introduction To The Dark Arts', 'Dark Arts: Truly Bad?', 'Battle Magic', and 'Mind Control: The Darker Side of the Mind Arts'.

After he'd set them in a small pile on the floor he raised his wand and sent up a small firecracker signal for an assistant before continuing his foray into the bookshelves. Soon a young man in staff robes was hurrying up, but Harry was distracted by a slim green volume that was tucked behind another at the very end of the shelf. It read 'The History of Parselmouths'. Harry sucked in a breath.

"Sir?"

"Sorry," Harry said, not sounding apologetic at all, his mind still on the book. "Can you take these down and discretely add them to my pile. I will be most unhappy if I am connected with them," Harry drawled, drawing on his memories of the Malfoys and the way they handled things: always firmly, and with arrogance, but never impolitely. The sales assistant swallowed, eyeing him nervously, and Harry self-consciously flattened his hair down over his forehead.

"You can come into the back room and pay for them. It isn't uncommon procedure with books such as these," Harry nodded before removing the slim volume he had been studying.

"Add that to the pile too. I take it I just follow you to the back?" Harry asked, placing the book on the pile.

The young man nodded and levitated the pile beside him as he led Harry to a small back room on the second floor that was hidden behind a bookcase. Harry quickly paid for the books, shrinking them and shoving them into his pockets, thanking Helena once more for charming them to disobey the laws of physics.

It seemed that many wizards who bought darker but still legal books on magic were careful about being seen doing so. For wizards and witches in high social places it could put them at a great disadvantage to be caught buying such things, especially around the time of the return of Voldemort, true or not. There were a few other shady-looking wizards skulking around in the room waiting to make their own purchases, and Harry escaped as quickly as he could. He was just glad that people only recognised him by his scar.

The transactions took little more than a few minutes, and soon he was downstairs and paying for his less dubious books. He may have been in Gryffindor, but he certainly didn't lack guile when he needed it, and he knew very well that neither his friends nor Dumbledore would be happy with his interest in darker magic. It had risen since his escape from Voldemort, and he'd realised with a chill that he'd need at least a cursory knowledge of the Dark Arts to ever hope to beat his nemesis.

Harry separated from his companions as they visited Eeylops Owl Emporium while he went to Obscurus Books to search for more volumes along the same vein as those he'd purchased in Flourish and Blotts. While he was searching, he managed to pick up a few books on Animagus Transformation (a subject that had interested him ever since he'd first seen Sirius transform).

He spent a few moments browsing through the junk shops and second hand shops that were beside Obscurus Books, picking up a few interesting knickknacks that he thought would make suitable charms. The shops were dark and dingy, stacked with all manners of odd items, and spelled so that the ceilings were deceptively high to make room for the wavering columns of things.

Harry found himself drawn in, picking up a few more books that he looked interesting, and a pair of scales that were rather nice, if a little battered, and came with a whole array of measuring equipment. He also found a small brass telescope that he could fold down completely flat (he really did love magical items) and for curiosity's sake he picked up a slim book of traditional wizarding recipes.

When Harry finally found himself at the front of the store again, he discovered that not only had he acquired around two bags more of items and books, but that he was also ten minutes late in meeting his friends. With a hurried 'thank you' to the owner, he dashed to their meeting point and last destination before Fred and George: the Magical Menagerie.

The shop was still as noisy and cramped as he remembered it, but for once he was grateful, because even Hermione was distracted enough not to notice how drastically late he was in meeting them.

Harry peered curiously at the animals around him; the burning fire salamanders, various cats, and small creatures that looked like rats, but were speckled in interesting colours that changed every so often to adapt to their surroundings.

In the moments when he was examining the various creatures to the background noise of Ron and Ginny's excited gasps and Hermione's babble to the owner about Crookshanks, Harry decided that the only animal he would ever consider getting besides Hedwig was a snake, because at least then he would be able to talk to it rather than staring stupidly at it in the hopes of communication. However, he wasn't exactly considering replacing his dear owl anytime soon, and the shop didn't really hold that much interest for him. All the other animals seemed too garish and flamboyant, while lacking any real intelligence.

It took him quite awhile to convince his friends to leave the Magical Menagerie, and it was only as they were walking at a leisurely pace up the street towards the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that Harry remembered his idea of visiting an opticians to have his eyes corrected. It occurred to him that that was the one shop that remained a mystery to him. In fact, the only reason that Harry knew that there was a wizarding opticians was because he remembered a conversation with Percy in which he mentioned having his eyes corrected.

With a shrug he dodged out of the way of a small child carrying something that looked suspiciously like a ton-tongue toffee. Perhaps he would be able to convince Molly to let him come back here and get his eyes fixed. Even better, she might know where the shop was!

---

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was packed full of customers. Harry entered with a great degree of caution, as the last time he'd visited, the twins had hung a rather nasty prank over the door.

This time however, he managed to step through the threshold without being accosted by anything more than busy shoppers and excited children. Ron quickly dragged Hermione off to show her some new invention his brothers had come up with, and Harry found himself left with Ginny.

"My brothers wanted to see you I think," she commented. Harry nodded vaguely, distracted by the bright colours and excitement pressing in from all sides, and approached the counter.

"Fred, George!" he called. Two identical red heads turned and shot him a grin.

"Hello Harry, you're-"

"-looking very well," they said.

"We take it that you're here-"

"-to get your present?"

"Follow us then!" they said in unison beckoning to the two of them. "Come on little sister."

Harry shot Ginny a grin and skirted around the counter into the back room. A few customers were milling around in the back, obviously waiting to buy some of the more expensive and serious items.

The back room was less well lit than the front one, and was piled high with boxes and stock. A few items lay around on the floor or on boxes, and the twins informed them that they were covering anti-stealing and alarm spells. Harry and Ginny were ushered through a door that read 'Private' in garish, glowing red letters.

"We jinxed that door," said the twin labelled 'Fred', which, Harry thought, probably meant it was George.

"Anyone who touches it without out permission gets a nasty zap-"

"-and a stupefy. After that we get to test a new product on them," George said with a grin.

"Are you actually allowed to do that?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Of course." Fred grinned.

"It's all in the small print at the bottom of the door." They both snickered before continuing in unison.

"'By touching this door with the intent of accessing it, you are allowing yourself to be used as Number One Lab rat,'" they quoted, snickering.

"They put the spell on themselves by reading the sign," Fred told him.

The room upstairs was cosy and small. It looked as if they were sharing it for the moment, since there were two beds folded down from one of the walls. Harry looked at the beds curiously. He liked the idea of having a bed that folded out from the walls.

"We made them ourselves," Fred said smugly.

"If we ever go into furniture-"

"-and that's an if,"

"-they'll be the first on the line."

The twins were standing in front of Harry now, each holding a package in one hand. 'Fred' (or was it George?) stepped forwards and shook Harry's hand before giving him the gift.

"That should cover all your pranking needs this year," the twin told him.

Harry quickly moved over to one of the beds and sat down, unwrapping the present. Inside was a plain wooden box with the words 'Pranking Toolkit' embossed in gold in the lid. Harry grinned up at them.

"A Pranking Toolkit?" Harry repeated with raised brows. George grinned at him.

"We're still refining it. Gave Angelina pink nose hair for a week." Harry resisted the urge to shut the box rather promptly.

"You'll be the first person who gets to test it out before it goes on the line," Fred continued. Ginny prodded him in the shoulder.

"Open it up and have a look," she said, peering over his head.

It appeared to be another of those wonderful wizarding boxes that was much bigger on the inside than the outside. If Harry had to guess, he'd say that he could fit his whole arm inside the shallow box before he touched the bottom.

The inside was lined with tiny vials, tins and boxes, all meticulously labelled. Harry noted that there were several Skiving Snack-boxes, as well as a whole range of things he hadn't seen before. At the very bottom there appeared to be a few slim volumes. When Harry withdrew them, Fred told him about them.

"Ah. Those are special. Written by George and yours truly. First copies."

"But our sponsor and benefactor gets nothing less, eh Gred?"

"Of course Forge." Fred tapped the top book, which read 'The Art of Prank-Making' "These, will help you. All the covers are user friendly."

"User friendly?" Harry queried, raising an eyebrow.

"Show him George," one of the twins said. The other picked up a nearby book and brought it over to the one Harry was holding in his hand. Tapping the cover of Harry's book with his wand, he said: "Copycat."

Before his eyes the book that Harry was holding twitched, shivered and then stretched into a new shape, the cover changing into that of the book held next to it.

"Wow," Harry breathed. His mind was already spinning with the usefulness of the spell.

"We know," The twins intoned. "We got the idea from the Marauder's Map." Fred tapped the book with the tip of his wand, he said: "Loner." The book changed back to it's original cover under Harry's eyes.

"Now," Fred began. "There might be a few problems."

"We haven't tested it in libraries," George added.

"But, in theory, it should copy the nearest book."

"In theory," George repeated with a smirk. "We expect you to write a detailed report on how they work."

"Or ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter," Fred said in a passable impression of Snape, making Harry laugh.

"Now, open your other present," they said together, 'George' handing Harry the second parcel and shaking his hand.

"This is something special-"

"-because you started us off in the business-"

"-and Ron said you have trouble with dreams-"

"-so we thought this would be appropriate."

Harry nodded at them and gently pulled the wrapping paper off. Inside were what looked like an intricately woven spider's web, a pair of tweezers and a set of vials. He looked up at them in confusion.

"What is it?" Ginny asked from the other side of the room, where she was warily examining one of the twin's creations.

"Yes, what is it?" Harry repeated, looking at the two boys curiously.

"'What is it' he says?" they laughed.

"That," Fred pointed to the spider's web, "is a dream catcher. You can set it to catch dreams, nightmares or both."

"Made of the finest shiny caterpillar silk." George pointed to the vials and tweezers. "It gets clogged up with dreams after awhile and stops working, so you need to clean it out. Any dreams you want to keep,-"

"-just put in the vials," Fred finished. Harry looked up at them with a grateful smile. It was probably the best gift he'd received this year.

"Thanks, guys."

"Don't mention it," they said in unison.

---

The Burrow was exactly as he remembered it. Crookshanks was playing out in the garden; chasing the muddy gnomes around in the golden evening sunshine, but he broke away when he spotted Hermione and made a beeline towards her, rubbed himself around her ankles purring.

They'd flooed back from the Leaky Cauldron after they'd left the twin's shop, and Harry as always was left feeling distinctly nauseous. He had never looked forwards to learning how to apparate before. Somehow he always managed to end up on the floor in a pile of dust when he flooed, while everyone else arrived with at least some elegance and on their feet. Even Ron!

In fact, the only thing that Harry felt elegant doing was flying. He'd recently had a bit of a growth spurt, despite his lack of good food over the summer, and he felt rather out of touch with his body. He seemed much taller than he expected himself to be, and his strides were rather out of sync with the rest of him. This meant that he'd spent the better part of the summer knocking things over and crashing into doorframes, which was not something he was used to doing, and definitely not something his relatives appreciated.

After greeting the Weasley family and assuring Molly that he was just fine, he coaxed Ron and Ginny outside so that they could go flying. He'd deposited most of his possessions in Ron's room, where he'd be sleeping for the last few days of summer, and it was a joy to be able to resize his Firebolt again. He was itching to get into the air after a summer refined in his room.

When he was finally outside he began to run, mounting his broom as he did, and whirling into the air, his cloak whipping around his legs. Ignoring Ron's indignant shout, Harry rose higher until he was hovering above the Weasley home below, basking in the warm sunlight that rose low in the sky.

He had a few precious moments in the air when he felt freer than he ever had, wondering how he'd managed to do without flying all summer. Well, next summer would mark his seventeenth year, and thus his coming of age. He would finally be free to use magic and go flying whenever he wished. However, he reverie was interrupted.

"Merlin Harry. You took off faster than a Kneazel after a gnome!" Ron exclaimed. Harry repressed a chuckle at the odd Wizarding phrases. Even after all these years he still found them incredibly funny.

"I missed being in the air is all," Harry said with an irrepressible grin.

"Just think though Harry, this time next year we'll be able to fly, apparate and use magic whenever we like!" Ron said, eyes becoming dreamy as he thought of all the possibilities. Harry watched him, amused.

"It'll be nice to leave the Dursleys that's for sure," Harry said with a grin, half-daydreaming about hexing them as a parting gift.

"How about a race then?" Ron said, finally breaking out of his daydream and batting him on the shoulder before doing an impressive dive towards the ground and through the trees.

---

A few days later saw Harry rising early. He checked his clock and noted that it read 4:55 am. With a sigh he rolled out of his bed, stretching aching muscles and heading to the small window in the corner of the room.

Ron still lay sprawled half on and half off of his bed, his feet trailing on the ground and his hair in disarray. Harry knew from experience that he probably wouldn't be waking up until around ten or eleven.

Below the window a light mist still lay over the ground and outside was quiet aside from a few animal sounds. Even the gnomes appeared to be sleeping. He opened the window with ease, wincing slightly at the loud creak that echoed over the silent garden. Turning his head, he checked that Ron was still asleep before leaning on the sill and looking out with tired eyes.

He'd been dreaming again. He hadn't set the dream catcher up yet, but he planned to do it before he got into bed tonight. It was the same as always. He was walking forwards, stumbling in the darkness, growing more confident in his steps before reaching the cave-in. He'd place his hand on the stone and realise where he was, what he was doing, before everything was reduced down to the feeling of the stone against his palm and the distant dripping.

Harry sighed. The dream was already fading, until all he was left with was the wraith-like memory of walking through blackness and touching the stone. Curling his fist in frustration he backed away from the window, leaving it open.

Casting around the room he located his trunk, pulling a pair of dark grey trousers and a dull copper shirt out. He tugged them on, buttoning up his shirt as he walked carefully downstairs, avoiding the steps that creaked from years of experience. He rounded the corner, finally doing up the last button on his shirt and stepping into the kitchen. The light was just filtering through the windows, casting a pale air on the table. The whole place seemed saturated in peace and solitude.

That was part of the reason that Harry was so surprised to find that he was not alone. The youngest Weasley sat at the far end of the table, nursing a cup of hot chocolate and looking at him with dark eyes.

"Good morning," he greeted her, moving to the table and drawing up a chair.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked simply. Harry shook his head.

"Bad dreams. Well…not bad, but recurring. Only I can't remember what happened in them." Harry shot her a small smile. "I'm sounding stupid aren't I?"

"A little," Ginny replied, face drawn and blank. "At least you can't remember yours." Harry frowned, looking at her more closely.

The youngest of the family had a worn down look, tired purple smudges beneath her eyes. Her skin was paler than usual, and her eyes were dark and blank.

"What do you dream then?" Harry asked tentatively.

"You'll just think I'm odd." In response to Harry's querying look she continued. "It's not that I don't think you'd understand. You'd probably understand the best, but you can't make them go away so there's really no point in talking about them." Harry swallowed.

"Talking about things is supposed to help," he ghosted, then forced a laugh. "Not that I'd know."

"So says the boy with a thousand secrets," she said dryly. Harry had to grin a little at that.

"All right. How about we both tell each other our dreams. You can't help me with mine, and I can't help you with yours, but we can compare." Ginny paused for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"Ok," she said finally. "You first." She took another sip of her drink.

"Well…" Harry hesitated. "It always starts with me walking in the dark. I think I'm underground somewhere, but I'm not sure. I keep stubbing my toes on rocks and things first, but then I start moving a bit faster because I get the hang of feeling ahead of me for obstacles. But then I reach this rock, and I put my hand out and touch it, and I can remember exactly what it feels like. It's like its been worn down with years of water running over it, or ground down like those smooth rocks you find on the seaside." His voice became faintly wistful, remembering the fleeting joy that his single visit to the sea had brought him.

"I think I remember something there, something almost inconsequential, but something that would throw it all into perspective, if you know what I mean. I can hear this dripping coming from far away, and I get an idea that this rock isn't supposed to be there, and there are tunnels beyond the rock if I could only get past it, but I don't. Everything just begins to fade away until all I know is the feel of the rock and the dripping in the distance, and then I wake up, usually at around three or five in the morning." Harry smiled ruefully. Ginny blinked at him.

"That's an odd dream," she said blankly. "Usually in my dreams I'm going somewhere or doing something, not just standing," she commented.

"That's exactly what I mean. It's odd, because every night it's the same dream, and every night I'm just standing there, not doing anything and not remembering anything," Harry growled, still frustrated.

"Mine's a bit different to yours," she said hesitantly, expression shuttering up. "You've got to promise not to tell mum or my brothers or anything, because they'd be worried, and they'd go and have me checked out by those Mind Healers at St Mungos again." Harry scrutinised her carefully before nodding.

"I keep dreaming all the things I can't remember when I'm awake." She gestured weakly. "You know. About the Chamber of Secrets. All the things I couldn't remember before keep coming back into my dreams. L-like…" she stuttered, "like when I was writing on the walls in that blood, and I can feel it on my hands and through my fingers and it's _horrible_." Ginny shuddered weakly and took another sip of her drink, holding it between her hands. "Most of all though, I remember what it felt like to have Tom in my head. All I could do was watch and sit back, not able to move or do _anything_. Kind of how I imagine being under Imperius would be like."

Harry thought over her words. They sounded pretty sane to him. He had been tormented by nightmares of Cedric and Voldemort and the Cruciatus curse since that fateful night, before these new dreams began.

"Maybe your mind is just breaking down whatever barriers Tom put there when he possessed you," he theorised, not missing Ginny's slight flinch at the mention of possession. "They wouldn't have been able to hold up forever." Harry suddenly felt very sorry for what she had had to go through. In the end, he seemed to effect other people far more than he ever realised. He reached forwards and clasped one of her hands in his own, and she turned big dark eyes towards him.

"Sometimes I feel like something got killed off when it happened. Like something was replaced. How do I tell if I don't have a part of him still in my head?" she asked, her voice completely devoid of emotion.

"I think the same thing every bloody day. Dumbledore told me awhile ago that…that when Voldemort died, part of him was transferred over to me, and some of his powers like parseltongue. I get the feeling we'll never really know. There's no way to properly see inside someone's head, or at least not if you're a human. It's just not that simple," Harry said quietly, and Ginny shot him a shaky smile.

"I suppose you're right. I just feel like I should be trying to fight it, that's all. Like everyone expects me to be a typical bloody Weasley, all pure and happy and _good_, and I'm not. Everyone else is so…" she trailed off and Harry laughed a little.

"Inherently bloody good and true?" he suggested.

"Yes!" she agreed vehemently. "Like they can't see anything other than blinding white light and goodness. It makes me feel odd, because I have this part of me in my head that keeps sending me dreams that isn't…light or good." She frowned and dropped her head back down, staring into her drink.

"Most people see the world as either black or white with a few shades of grey to balance it out, but hardly ever both. I'd consider that an advantage if I were you," he told her seriously. "If there's one thing I know, and I don't really know much at all, it's that hardly anyone, no matter what they profess, can see both the 'light' and 'dark' sides of things." Harry stood up and moved forward, planting a kiss on her forehead. "You're a lucky girl, sis, and don't forget it." Ginny shot him a smile, her eyes less blank than before.

"Now, where did you get that hot chocolate from?"

---


	3. Nocturnal Creatures

---

**Chapter Three: Nocturnal Creatures**

---

Some time later, when the sun had risen truly and properly and was shining through the windows with a bit more vigour than it had before, Harry could be found drinking his second hot chocolate and laughing with Ginny as they poured over Harry's Pranking Toolkit.

"I reckon you should use that one in you Potion's class," Harry said, gesturing to a small vial that held an odd yellowish powder.

"What does it do?" Harry winked at her knowingly and flipped through the book in his hand, looking for the ingredient he'd pointed out.

"This powdered potion is ideal for tipping into an unsuspecting enemy's cauldron. It comes in four different colours: red, green, yellow and blue. The powder will only react when Black Beetle Eyes, Bicorn Horns or Hellebore are used. The potion will then send up a large cloud of fumes that will, when in contact with skin, dye it the colour of the powder." Harry laughed and Ginny snatched the book from him, reading closely.

"Please note that any resulting accidents are the sole responsibility of the user" she read, one eyebrow raised. "Sounds safe and friendly as always."

"Well, the twins _did_ say that it wasn't in mass production yet," Harry replied, still grinning. "Does the Ministry even have limits on what counts as a 'prank'?" he asked, curious.

Ginny shrugged. "Probably not," she said, peering at the viscous contents of another vial. "No doubt the twins are using you as their prank guinea pig," she remarked dryly. Harry just chuckled again, shaking his head.

"Do you think your mum will let me go to Diagon Alley again today?" he asked after a moment of comfortable silence. "I need to get my eyes fixed, that's all." Harry gestured to his glasses.

"I'm sure she'd be fine, if, and I quote here 'you make sure you go with someone older and more responsible to keep you out of trouble'." Harry laughed delightedly at her impression before pretending to think.

"Well, Ron is older, but he isn't responsible, you're responsible, but you're not older, Hermione is both older and responsible but…" Harry trailed off.

"She's a right bore sometimes?" Ginny cut in sweetly, and Harry feigned outrage before adding:

"Only if you're doing something she knows about. And she knows everything." Harry shook his head and groaned. "She's sweet, but she just gets this need to tell you all she knows about something. If I went with her I'd have a lecture on the background theory and history of eye correction spells."

"I know what you mean. More pity for my big brother I suppose," Ginny said, still smiling. Harry looked at her in confusion.

"Ron had been drooling all over her this summer. He gets this funny dreamy look in his eyes when she's lecturing him. I honestly think he acts extra dim to get her to carry on talking." Ginny shook her head, seemingly confused as to why anyone would want the bushy-haired girl to lecture them.

"I didn't even guess." Harry furrowed his brows. "I was pretty wrapped up in my own world I suppose."

"Well, you did watch a fellow classmate die," Ginny pointed out bluntly. "You have a reason to be all wrapped up in your own world.

"I suppose," Harry repeated quietly. "It's not even as if I knew him. I didn't really care about him much, but it just showed me how little we're all worth to Voldemort. He could kill everyone I loved and not even blink an eyelid." He looked at Ginny. "I mean, if he didn't give a second thought to killing Cedric, when he didn't even have a reason to, why would he hesitate at killing anyone else?"

"Look," Ginny said. "I know you think about this stuff, and Voldemort is back and alive, but it's not going to help you with worrying about it. Let someone else destroy him this time. You'll have better luck pouring your resources into Voldemort repelling lucky charms if someone like Dumbledore hasn't defeated him after all this time," Ginny told him, half-jokingly.

"That's quite a good idea actually." Harry smiled before pausing for thought. "I don't understand why someone hasn't performed something like a banishing ritual on him yet."

"That's because they're _illegal_ Harry. Nobody in their right minds wants to face the repercussions of using magic that's blacker than the Unforgiveables. With the Death Eaters throwing them around like sweets to children people have stopped being so worried about them, but banishing rituals are in the same league as necromancy and other arts," Ginny explained with an exasperated look.

"It's still a good idea though." Harry started sniggering. "Can you imagine how angry he'd be if he woke up one day to find himself on the demon plain, or one of the elemental plains?" Ginny looked at him sceptically.

"I'm sure it would be hilarious, until he found a way back. Hell, if he can cause trouble here, what about the trouble he could cause in a different plain of existence? And who knows whether spirits can travel through plains? He might just ditch his body and travel back." Harry sighed.

"It was a good idea, before you started poking holes in it," he retorted. Ginny looked out at the lightening sky thoughtfully.

"You might be able to make a pact with a demon though," she mused. Harry's eyebrows shot up in alarm.

"A demon? And you told me I was talking nonsense." She rolled her eyes, exasperated, and looked back at him.

"Don't be silly. Demon pacts are quite common. My great aunt made one to have some very nasty wards set up around this house. Lots of people have household demons, or if their family has done some really skilful trickery, then they have guardian demons. Guardian demons are a bit more difficult though. It's one thing to provide you with help, it's another to get a demon to feel it owes you enough of a life debt to serve your family for generations." She looked off thoughtfully again. "I heard that the Malfoy family had one for awhile. I'm not sure if they still do though."

"Huh. If they treated it anything like their house elves then I doubt it," Harry said with a smirk, the two of them falling into silence again.

Harry found his thoughts turning back towards getting his eyes fixed in Diagon Alley. Perhaps after he'd finished his shopping he might be able to ditch whoever his companion was and pay a visit to Knockturne Alley. Without his glasses he was sure that few people who hadn't met him would recognise him. Of course, there was always the possibility of running into the Malfoys, but he doubted that that he would be so unlucky for it to happen a second time. Now all he needed to do was get there…

"Ginny, do you think that your mother would mind if I went and looked around Diagon Alley myself? It's about seven now, and the shops open early on Saturdays," Harry asked carefully. Ginny shot him a sharp look.

"Ah, I see what you're trying to do, Mr Potter. You want to buy something you're not supposed to." All Harry could do was stare at her, goggle-eyed. "Don't worry about it. I have six brothers, so I've got used to it." She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "What are you going to get?"

"I…actually I wanted to have a look around Knockturne Alley. I remember seeing all this interesting stuff from when I flooed there by mistake," Harry admitted ruefully.

"I've never been there. Mum and Dad always said it was a breeding ground for Dark Wizards, but that doesn't really add up, considering that if there was a known place filled with 'evil' then the Ministry would root it out. I think it just has a few more shady shops than usual." She frowned in thought. "Bill used to go there a lot. He said there was a good bar down there I think." She stood up, walking over to the door and pulling her shoes on.

"Where are you going Gin?"

"Well, are we going there or not?" Harry felt his face break into a spontaneous grin and hurried over, pulling his own shoes on from where they sat next to the door. He grabbed his 'Dream Cloak' from the peg above and slung it around his shoulders.

"Should we leave a note?" he asked, casting around for paper.

"No. We'll probably be back before they wake up anyway. Mum is used to me going out on walks in the mornings, so she'll probably just think I took you with me if she actually gets up before we get back." She snickered and held a hand to her head. "Because everyone knows how much Ginny Weasley is dying to get Harry Potter alone on a romantic walk." Beside her Harry blushed and chuckled a little nervously. He really hoped she had got over her first year crush on him.

"So, we off then?" Harry asked taking a pinch of floo powder from the mantle.

"Yeah. Let's go."

---

The opticians was a small, clean store with painted white walls just off of Diagon Alley. As they entered a small bell rang in the back of the shop, and they were soon greeted by a small wizened looking man with thick round spectacles perched on the end of his nose in such a way that he was forced to tilt his head backwards slightly to see through them. This gave him an odd air of kindly looking down his nose at them.

"Ah, young sir, young sir, we don't usually get customers so early. Come in, come in, and you too young lady. Now," he said, clapping his hands together. "What can I help you with? Glasses?"

"Actually, I was wondering if there are eye correcting charms?" Harry asked.

"Yes, yes, we have many of those. What did you want? Longsighted? Short-sighted? All sighted? No sighted? We can change your eye colour for a small fee as well, although I wouldn't recommend it with a colour such as yours," the man babbled. Harry found it to be rather disconcerting.

"I'm short-sighted. I only want a charm to fix my eyesight, nothing else thank you," Harry said firmly.

"Very good. Come this way, young sir, young miss."

Having his eyes corrected was one of the strangest sensations Harry had ever encountered. The optician first cast several charms assessing his eyesight, and then proceeded to lay him back in a chair, putting a few drops of a clear liquid in his eyes – 'To stop you from needing to blink, young sir' – and then he began to work.

As it turned out, it wasn't just one simple charm, but a combination of several that tightened and loosened muscles and changed the shape of his eye in some places. The oddest thing was that Harry could _feel_ things adjusting, which was more than disconcerting. It took the old man five minutes to finish his first eye, another five on the other, and a few minutes making minor adjustments before Harry paid him and left the shop, several galleons lighter.

When they left, Harry noticed that people were beginning to filter in to the area. He caught Ginny's gaze, and she looked at him in an oddly scrutinising fashion.

"Something wrong?"

"No. It's just odd seeing you without your glasses. You're right, with your eyes changed, no one would recognise you if they didn't know you," she said, still giving him that strange look, but she turned away and began walking towards Knockturne Alley with Harry hurrying to catch up.

---

The street was shadowed, but Harry noted that it was due to the higher rise of the buildings. The houses and shops seemed designed to tilt forwards slightly, overshadowing the cobbled road and lending it an air of menace. It was too early for the street traders to be out yet, and Harry was grateful for it; he had no desire to be accosted by someone selling human nails again.

Most of the shops were closed, and Harry suspected that many of them wouldn't open until the sun set. Others, he guessed, never shut. One of the few that he recognised was Borgin and Burkes, and he offered his arm to Ginny, adopting what he hoped was a typically sneering 'pureblood' expression. He had a feeling that it wouldn't do to act as if he were an innocent shopping here, no matter how unruffled he pretended to be.

Mr Borgin greeted them with an oily, deprecating smile as they entered, rubbing his hands together unpleasantly.

"Good morning young sir, young lady" Harry gave him a brief nod and turned to peruse the wares.

The grisly items he'd seen before were still there and gathering dust, many of them looking as if they hadn't been touched for years. Harry noted dismembered limbs, the cursed hangman's noose, a filthy crystal ball with something in its depths that twitched oddly as he moved past it, and several pieces of dark looking jewellery. In a far corner was what looked like a dusty black egg sitting next to the large cupboard he'd hidden in on his first visit.

However, that wasn't what caught Harry's eye. Nestled behind the egg was a glimmering silver cane, topped with a serpent's head. Harry frowned and turned to Mr Borgin.

"Is that Lucius Malfoy's cane?" he asked, eyeing the man sharply.

"Not many would notice such a detail young sir, you have quite the eye for items," the man said with a smile that was obviously meant to be friendly, but instead leant his face a rather unpleasant look. "I have to say that it is not Mr Malfoy's cane, although it is most similar." Borgin moved past Harry and picked it up, running a hand down it almost lovingly.

"I have been trying to convince him to sell me his for years. They are brother canes. Similarly to wands they have a core. I am afraid that Mr Malfoy has been not forthcoming in the least in regards to my generous offer. Neither is he interested in buying it from me, for reasons I cannot fathom, but perhaps you would be interested, young sir?"

Harry frowned as Borgin proffered the cane to him. It was certainly an alluring piece, but he hesitated to touch it. For Lucius to have turned down a brother cane he must have had a good reason. From what little Harry knew of brother items, they were very strong. If his and Voldemort's wands were any example, there was no way that Lucius would turn it down, unless he had a very good reason to.

"What is the core?" he asked, assiduously avoiding touching the cane. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ginny doing a good job of acting a haughty pureblood, alternately inspecting the jewellery and eyeing Harry. They'd agreed before entering the Alley that it would be the best precaution.

"I am afraid I am not in possession of that knowledge, though I long to know." Borgin sighed unconvincingly, and Harry felt his eyes narrow. "They say, that when the right wizard touches it, the core will come alive, and they will wield great power."

Harry hummed sceptically and raised a brow at the man in front of him. He did want to touch it, but he was wary of dark items and all too familiar with the tales of curses and hexes placed on them. Some of them were known to activate through touch of the skin. Harry suddenly knew why Lucius was wearing gloves whenever he met him. Mind you, Mr Borgin was touching it quite happily…

"I am not interested in a cane with an unknown core," Harry said, eyes narrowing once more as he eyed the object in question. "One can never tell what reactions you will get from these things." The last part of the sentence came out more of a hiss than he'd meant it to, but Harry found increasingly that he would slip into parseltongue when shown representations of snakes.

The silver snake at the top of the cane blinked once, twice, and there was an answering hiss like the ghost of a memory that flitted through Harry's head. He raised his eyes to meet Borgin's, carefully so as not to arouse suspicion, but the man didn't appear to have noticed anything amiss. However, his next question nearly threw Harry's façade.

"May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of such a fine young sir?" the older man said, his sentence slipping off his tongue.

Harry froze nervously, trying desperately to think of an appropriate family name to use. Mr Borgin's eyes fixed on him knowingly, and his lips curled into a half-smile.

"I am sure that Mr Grey will be pleased to introduce himself another day, but for the moment we have many more things to do," Ginny cut in sharply, twining an arm through Harry's, and when Harry got over his split-second lapse he smiled down at her warmly.

"I think we will be seeing you again soon Mr Borgin." Harry bade goodbye to the older man, who looked after them suspiciously as they left the shop.

As soon as they were back on the cobbled street and far enough away from Borgin and Burkes that the shopkeeper wouldn't hear them, Harry leant down to quietly demand answers from Ginny.

"Mr Grey?" he queried.

"They're an old pureblood wizarding family that died out a few centuries ago I think. I could just see you floundering for an answer there, so I thought I'd help," she said absently. "We really should have agreed on names before we came here."

"What are you then?" Harry teased.

"Don't be absurd. I am young Miss Grey, your beloved cousin," Ginny said with a wink, making Harry laugh.

"What are out first names then?" He asked, increasingly curious.

"I was thinking 'Tom', as a little private joke between us. I wasn't sure about mine. It would have helped if Tom had told me the name of his mother in that diary, or an aunt or anything really," she mused, and Harry joined her in thought for a few moments.

"He did mention that one of his most hated teachers was Antonia Merrythought. But I'm not calling myself Antonia or Merrythought," Ginny said with a frown.

"How about Merry then?" Harry suggested.

"I suppose that's all right." She paused, a wicked grin coming over her face. "Merry and Tom Grey. Uptight purebloods who have just come into the city. I like the sound of it." Ginny snickered.

"Hm…when is my birthday going to be then?" Harry asked absently as they sauntered slowly down the road, eyeing shop windows and occasionally stopping to stare.

"November the 23rd," she replied promptly.

"Then I suppose yours will have to be December the 13th," Harry answered, choosing a name at random as he eyed a particularly gruesome ball of matter suspended in a flask.

"That's unlucky you know. Plus, you have to buy me a present soon."

"You too cousin," he replied and they both turned to smile at each other.

"We should probably be getting back soon you know," Harry said, looking regretfully round at all the unexplored shops.

"We're going to come back here you know," Ginny pointed out, poking him in the side. "Even if I have to drag you with me."

"Now, there's no reason for that, cousin dearest. I am quite happy to come back with you." Harry crooned, ducking out of the way when Ginny aimed a light slap to his head. "And that is not a way for an upstanding you lady as yourself to behave." He offered his arm to her again and they made their way briskly back down the street, towards Diagon Alley.

"You're probably the wildcard in the family," Harry smirked.

"Where as you're the silly eldest son who has to obey all the rules," Ginny sneered, making Harry chuckle. "But don't tell anyone I said that, _cousin dearest_."

---

Harry and Ginny arrived back at the house in time to see Molly coming down the stairs. Her eyes widened at the sight of both of them standing in their cloaks and robes before her face fell into a smile.

"Did you take Harry out walking then?" she asked Ginny, and Ginny replied that she had, barely blinking at lying. Molly however, was looking at Harry sharply.

"Your glasses are gone," she stated suspiciously.

"Yes Mum," Ginny interceded before Harry could start 'umming' and 'aahhing' again. "We walked down to town, and Harry said he'd wanted to get his eyes fixed when he was in Diagon Alley, and hadn't had the time. We flooed to the opticians, got them fixed and came back." Ginny added. Seeing Molly getting ready to lecture her daughter, Harry stepped in.

"It's so much better now they're gone." He smiled down at the redhead beside him. "Ginny was so kind to show me where it was."

The Slytherin side of him cheered as Molly's gaze softened and she walked up to give him a hug.

"You look good, Harry dear." She pulled away with an emotional sniff. "Now, what do you want for breakfast?"

The next few hours were spent in idle chatter as members of the Weasley family trickled into the kitchen bleary eyed and tired. By lunch time Harry could be found curled in a comfortable bend in the branches of a large oak that grew towards the edge of the Weasley property, the book on weaving charms into fabric in his lap.

He'd done quite a lot of reading in the short time since he'd arrived at the Burrow, feeling uncomfortable to be surrounded by so many people when he'd been used to the relative calm of his room until now. Ginny had proved to be a pleasant surprise to him, for not only was she observant and adventurous, but she had a darker side than he'd supposed, and she was quick to step in when Ron and Hermione began grating on his nerves.

The tranquillity and peace of the early morning was gone, but Harry found himself lulled by the sounds of chatter and buzz of insects. With a sigh he closed the book and leant back against the trunk of the tree, closing his eyes and enjoying the late summer sun.

He couldn't pin point when he started dreaming, but the first thing he noticed was the growing chill in his limbs, driving out the pleasant warmth he felt should be there. There was stone beneath his feet again, and darkness around his head. In the distance the drip of water drew him on like a lure, pulling him forwards. It was only when he reached his hand forwards to brace himself against the wall that he felt the smooth boulder against his palm, one of many. There was that thought again: _This shouldn't be here._ _This shouldn't be…_

"…there? Harry? Are you even listening? Are you awake?" Harry sat bolt upright, momentarily disorientated as he wondered why he was surrounded by twigs and leaves with his hand on the thick branch before him.

"Harry?" Ah, Hermione. Harry looked down from his perch and shot her a bleary smile.

"I must have dozed off while I was reading. Sorry 'Mione." He mumbled before yawning.

"Well, I brought you lunch. Molly said for me to just take it out to you because you're reading." Hermione showed him the tray she had in her hands; a small plate piled with a sandwich and a glass of juice on the side.

"Thanks." Harry replied, climbing down from his place in the tree. Ignoring Hermione's worried frown, he picked up the glass and took a large swallow. Things just got stranger and stranger these days. What he did know though, was that he really needed to have a good night's sleep.

---


	4. Riddle and Thestrals

---

**Chapter Four: Riddle and Thestrals**

---

The Hogwarts Express was as impressive as ever. Harry drew in a breath of admiration as he stepped through the wall and onto the teeming platform. Ginny stepped out behind him and they stood for a moment, sharing the view of the steaming scarlet engine and the crowds of witches and wizards. Harry felt himself sigh in relief; he was now truly back among his own kind.

They wove through the hordes of people, skirting parents reassuring their first year children and moving past others simply saying goodbye. Harry carried all of his belongings and half of Ginny's in the enlarged pockets of his black Cloak of Smoke. Harry had kept his trunk at its reduced size for most of the holiday, and together they had been able to convince Arthur to shrink their trunks and cast a featherweight charm on them. That way, as soon as they were back in the castle they would be able to return them to their original size. Harry was really looking forwards to the time when he would be allowed to do magic outside the school.

They passed many of Harry's year mates, and some of Ginny's, waving and calling out greetings before heading towards the train to find a compartment. Ginny had dragged Harry onto the platform after saying a quick goodbye to her family, leaving Ron and Hermione arguing heatedly outside. Harry couldn't even work out how it had started, let alone what they were yelling at each other. Ron was going a particularly handsome shade of red when they'd left. Harry wondered briefly if he would go a purple colour like his uncle. Probably not.

They stepped onto the train, looking either way down the long corridor before deciding to head to the back. It was the habit of prefects and first years to head to the front; prefects because they held a brief meeting there, and first years because they wanted to get a good look at the engines and meet the driver.

Since the majority of the student body was still standing outside, they found a compartment with relative ease, sliding the door open and settling into the seats with a sigh, looking out over the crowds.

"Look, there's Malfoy," Ginny said with a laugh pointing towards the blond haired family standing outside and mouthing a formal goodbye.

"I might not rise to his bait anymore, but I still don't want to look at him," Harry sniffed, staring past her finger at them despite himself.

"But he's pretty," Ginny said with a wicked grin. Harry snorted and tried to see how anyone would be able to find Malfoy 'pretty'. "You never know. He could be mournfully looking over the crowds for you; his bitter rival, yet ironically his one true love," Ginny said theatrically, clasping her heart dramatically.

"You could not have made me lose my appetite faster if you'd suggested that I marry and consummate my love with Voldemort," Harry replied seriously before breaking down into giggles. "One true love. Pfft." Ginny just grinned at him.

"Hey, he's looking at us." Ginny pointed out.

Harry looked out over the crowds and noticed that Malfoy was indeed looking their way. He stared back for a moment before poking out his tongue at him, causing Malfoy's face to register in surprise and then settle into a scowl. Harry just laughed.

"All right, I admit he's handsome if you go for the pointy pureblood look, but he can't deal with humour," Harry said, grinning across at Ginny.

"No doubt. And a man who can't deal with humour would never be man enough for you would he?" she teased.

"Nope. Besides I prefer my men without the 'men' part."

"So really, you'd probably go for women."

"Hmm…although Goblins wouldn't go amiss." Ginny choked a bit at that, before turning to Harry with a mock glare.

"As your cousin I could never allow you to marry a Goblin unless he or she was upstanding, kind and had a large income." They dissolved into more giggles for a brief spell before gasping for breath in an attempt to calm down.

"Talking of cousins, we need to research this 'Grey' family. It's no good having a façade if we don't know anything about them," Harry told her more seriously. They had both become rather taken with the idea of having a disguise during his stay at the Burrow, and the meagre supply of books there didn't give them any information.

"I agree. All I know is that they were an ancient and powerful family who held a lot of sway in this country. They were on the same sort of ranking power-wise as Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. In fact, I think that they may have been distant relatives of both Ravenclaw and Slytherin. In a similar way to those four, they died out within the previous five centuries or so. I think the last known descendant had moved to somewhere in Scandinavia." Ginny looked thoughtful.

"They're interesting then," Harry noted.

"Oh yeah. They specialised in spirit and demonic magic. They were cool. The only reason they occurred to me was the fact that we were talking about demon pacts," Ginny explained. "They were the first Wizarding family to acquire a Demon Guardian." Harry made a sound of understanding and was about to speak more when their compartment door slid open.

"Was that childish demonstration meant to mean anything Potter?" came the telltale drawl. Malfoy stood in the doorway; prefect's badge glistening on his robe, for once not accompanied by the customary goons.

"Your face was priceless, you have to admit," Harry said, grinning at him. He hoped it was an infuriating grin.

"Quite," he replied, staring at them stonily. In the corner Ginny snickered. "You find something funny, blood traitor?" he sneered. In the impulsive part of his brain Harry felt himself start to become offended on her behalf; it had been engraved so long, but he was stopped by Ginny's voice. Harry smiled at her briefly and sat back to watch the show.

"I do if you do, Ferret boy," she said, smirking. Draco's eyes widened slightly, but otherwise he merely raised an eyebrow.

"I had imagined you would be more insulted Weaslette," he phrased his question as a statement, in a typical manner of Slytherins.

"If you want shouting and a red face, talk to my brother," she paused and pretended to think. "You know, if you were to perhaps drop in some phrase like 'mudblood' or 'whore', then you might be able to get him to change to a more interesting colour than red." Harry let out a snort of suppressed laughter at her cutting appraisal of his friend. _Cruel but true,_ he thought.

"But he provides no challenge," Draco sighed. "It's like cursing a wounded Hippogriff."

"More like a flobberworm," Harry corrected. He wasn't feeling particularly well disposed towards his 'best mate', because he'd complained loudly several times about Harry's new clothes and books in an attempt to draw him into an argument over his stay at the Burrow, not to mention held screaming matches with Hermione whenever she wasn't lecturing him.

"So, Ferret boy, who're you going to provoke?" Ginny said, imitating his drawl.

"Certainly not Potter here. He's only marginally more difficult than the Weasel," Draco scoffed.

"Hmm? How so?" Harry replied, half curious and half defensive. Draco just laughed scornfully.

"Oh come on. One mention of Cedric and you'll fly into a rage. I'm not looking for something so uncouth as a fist fight this early in the morning." Harry felt something horrible well up in his stomach at the mention of Cedric, and it was with great difficulty that he repressed it. There was a brief pause before Draco spoke again.

"What do you know about Basilisks?" Harry's head shot up and he looked at the blond boy in front of him, practically radiating suspicion.

"Why do you want to know?" Harry asked carefully. In the corner of his eye he saw Ginny tense up. Draco merely sat down, sliding the door shut after him and propping his legs up arrogantly on the seat opposite.

"I heard you fought one in the second year," he said, skirting the question, voice carefully neutral.

"How?" Harry's words practically came out as a hiss. He'd told no one about the horrible fight. Draco twitched marginally at the tone, but continued undaunted.

"How do you think, Potter? The same way everyone else knows." He looked at Ginny lazily. "Your _brother_," he stressed the word, "bragged about Harry's strength and how he'd survived a fight with a Basilisk. I didn't believe at first – why would he bother to fight a basilisk for _you_? - but my father reassured me-" He was cut off suddenly by Ginny's cold voice.

"Your _father_ started the whole thing off." Her voice became icy. "Get out. We don't have room for filth like you." To Harry's surprise, Draco merely shrugged, getting up and walking out without another word.

Silence reigned in their compartment for a moment, Harry a mixture of worry, anger and suspicion, Ginny merely radiating cold fury. Harry chanced a glance at her and saw that the colour had drained out of her face and she had tensed up.

"He had no right to mention that," she growled, turning her head and looking out at the emptying platform as the train jolted slightly and began to move.

"No, he didn't." Harry sighed. "I'm more worried about why he was asking. Malfoy never does something without an ulterior motive. Mostly it's about his own personal gain." Something was bothering him, and at the back of his mind it felt as if there was a half-formed answer waiting, if only he could _remember._

Ginny gave a bitter laugh, interrupting his thoughts.

"That bastard. He hasn't a clue what that diary could have meant." She huffed her breath out in frustration. "He doesn't have any idea what he's doing." Harry turned to look at her quizzically, and Ginny sighed, the anger fading from her face leaving her looking drawn and defeated.

"I suppose Tom was like Cedric's death was to you. He made me realise how frail I was, and how easily somebody like Tom could just creep into existence again, taking away all the things that make the Wizarding world good." Her eyes traced the door that Draco had exited only a moment ago and hardened. "That stupid blond part and so many others are ready to pledge their lives to a man they haven't even met. Then he dares to come in here and start bringing that whole incident up again."

On impulse Harry started forwards and pulled her into a hug. She tensed momentarily before relaxing into him. For a moment they stood in perfect understanding, not needing to say a thing, but eventually Harry pulled away and shot her a smile.

"You know he's only doing it because he fancies you," he teased. Harry pulled his face into mock indigence. "Well, no cousin of mine is going to be defiled by that Ferret boy," he said, shooting her a wink as she laughed, breaking the tension.

---

The train was close to pulling into the station, and Harry and Ginny still shared the same carriage. There had been no sign of Ron or Hermione, but when Neville had greeted them he had explained that both of them were sitting on opposite ends of the train and sulking. Harry surmised that they probably each assumed that the other would find himself and Ginny, and neither wanted to run into each other after their argument. Personally Harry was rather glad. He hadn't really enjoyed Ron's company over the summer, and he really didn't want to see him or Hermione after he'd found out that they'd spread the story of Harry's fight over the school.

"Harry, you know you never showed me that clothes shop like you promised?" Ginny said, the evil smile on her face countering the innocence in her voice.

"Yep. You have to wait until your birthday," he smirked, and Ginny huffed.

"My birthday is in August Harry."

"No, dearest cousin, it's in December. You didn't think I'd let you go through winter without some warm cloaks did you? Besides, I owe you for keeping me sane at the Burrow when those two were around," Harry said with a smile, just as the train began to slow and approach the station.

"You do know I'm only kidding, don't you?" she asked him more seriously.

Harry met her gaze. "I missed your birthday anyway. I'll make up for it with this."

She shot him a genuinely grateful smile as they stood to pull on outer cloaks and gather up the sweets and books that they had been reading for part of the journey. When the train had stopped, they stepped out of their compartment and joined the students milling around in the corridors as they waited for the doors to open.

Harry immediately felt a homecoming feeling growing in him, his breath misting slightly in the cold night air. He grabbed Ginny's arm so that she wouldn't get lost in the crowd as he dragged her towards the sound of Hagrid's voice floating over the clusters of students. Soon the half-giant came into sight, holding a lantern and shouting his usual call of 'Firs' Years!'

"Hagrid!" Harry yelled over the chatter of excited pupils.

"'Ello 'arry, Ginny!" he called back.

"How are you?" Ginny yelled over the din as they drew closer.

"Oh, not bad, not bad. 'Tis a cold night though. Strange things been goin' on up at the school." He turned to them sternly. "You'd best watch out for trouble. Go an' catch yer'selves a carriage before you catch a death of cold."

He waved them away before they could say anything else, and Harry exchanged bemused looks with Ginny. It was certainly a cold night, but it wasn't cold enough for Hagrid to be worried. Harry frowned.

They managed to secure a carriage with only one other occupant; a quiet blond girl who spared them only a glance before turning the stare out the windows again. Harry sat in the middle, still unreasonably wary of the Thestrals. He still hadn't got used to seeing them leading the carriages.

"I don't like them either," Ginny whispered from beside him, staring fixedly out of the window. Harry started, confused.

"You can see them?" he asked, incredulous. To see them she would have had to watch someone die. He was sure she hadn't…

"Only sometimes. I can see flickers of them when I'm not looking straight at them," she murmured as the carriage started.

"But you would have had to have seen someone-" Harry began.

"Die. Yes," she cut him off. Harry looked at her carefully. She had remained pale since the incident with Malfoy, and it made her hair almost glow in contrast.

"Who was it?" he asked quietly.

"I didn't really see a person die, per se. But I guess that by then Riddle must have counted as a bit of a person. He was a memory, but by the time he was done with me he was nearly alive."

"Oh," was all Harry could think to say. "Well, I hope you never have to watch someone really die," he added sincerely.

In the corner the girl with the blond hair shuddered slightly and curled up closer to the walls of the carriage. Harry looked her over curiously, and he noticed that Ginny was doing the same thing. The girl was very pale with luminous eyes that seemed to defy being identified as a colour. Her hair was cut short around her ears, framing an almost heart-shaped face. In some lights she could be considered pretty, but it was as if her features were picked from a strange mix, and the end result of them was something undefined as either pretty or ugly.

"You don't like Thestrals either," Ginny stated, looking at her with an inscrutable expression. The girl turned and returned the stare, and after a long pause replied.

"No," she said shortly before returning to staring out of the window. Ginny leant back with a thoughtful look. Harry watched the exchange between them with some curiosity. He felt as if there had been a whole conversation that he had missed out on, despite it only being a few seconds long.

He let it pass him by as they arrived at Hogwarts: if it was important, then he guessed that Ginny would tell him. If not, then he had no reason to know, and he wasn't going to press it.

---

The Great Hall was packed with people as usual. Harry was surprised to see the girl that they had been speaking to walk over to the Slytherin table, but Ginny seemed to have been expecting it. Not for the first time Harry wondered how he could have missed this side of the youngest Weasley.

The first years were sorted without hassle, and Harry quickly transfigured a piece of chicken into a Gryffindor insignia, which he promptly pinned to his robes before beginning his meal feeling satisfied. Ron and Hermione had, by some chance of fate avoided each other and Harry and Ginny, choosing instead to sit at opposite ends of the table, which left the pair of them quite happy. Therefore he was taken unawares when something odd began.

He was halfway through his meal when it happened. Time seemed to slow, people drifting as if through water. Harry himself felt distant, gazing around the hall at the normal speed, noting that not even the headmaster seemed to be orchestrating this odd occurrence as the sound faded to silence.

There was a distant noise that began as a drip, increasing slowly until he could hear water pouring and rushing as if in torrents towards him. He could see it in his mind's eye crashing round the solid corners of the corridors, pounding towards the hall. Just when the sound reached a peak it stopped, and a deep chill fell across the hall.

With a snap, Harry was thrown back into the normal time frame, a piercing cold setting into his bones. He noticed, to his relief, that it wasn't only him that was taken by this sudden cold as people all over the hall pulled their cloaks closer and muttered to each other.

"Are you all right?" Ginny whispered quietly from where she sat next to him. "You looked like you were in a dream."

"I…I think so," he said, still looking towards the doors where he imagined the torrent would have torn the doors from their hinges. That dripping that had started it all seemed so achingly familiar, but whenever he tried to pursue the small thread of an answer he felt himself thrown off. He frowned, shaking his head.

"Children." Dumbledore had stood at the staff table, using his wand to amplify his voice. "The heads of your houses will guide you back to your rooms. We are sorry for the interruption to the welcoming feast, but it is unavoidable. The prefects will be responsible for looking after the younger students and making sure that nobody goes astray," he said in a kind voice, but Harry could read the man rather well after these years, and could tell that he was worried.

There was a rumble of dissent as the students found their meals interrupted, but he noted that most of the staff table looked resigned, and not at all surprised. Harry himself was thinking furiously. He knew that in the back of his mind there was an answer to these things that kept happening, the dreams, the sudden slowing of time that no one else seemed to notice. It was all there, if only he could find a way to access it. But then again, that was the problem. He _didn't_ know, and every time he felt he was getting close, he found himself falling frustratingly short, just like when he tried to pursue his dreams.

Scanning across the staff table as he stood, he looked for the teachers that appeared to know more than the others. Dumbledore, he was certain understood why that chill had entered the hall, since he wouldn't have called the students back to their houses otherwise, but Harry was certain that he hadn't noticed the slow of time.

Reaching the end of the table he found Severus Snape still seated, staring fixedly at him. Harry had a horrible feeling that the man knew more than he was letting on. Mind you, it could simply be habit to stare suspiciously at him, as every time something went wrong, or people were told to return to their dorms, Harry was somehow connected or managed to sneak off.

This time though, Harry had no intentions of going anywhere but the Gryffindor common room. Ginny threaded her hand into his, and Harry noticed that it was as cold as the room around them. Many of the students were shaking visibly, and the staff wrapped their cloaks tighter around themselves as they hurried the children towards their rooms.

Their travels through the corridors were uneventful, and they soon reached the sanctuary of the Gryffindor common room, which was only marginally warmer than the Great Hall. McGonagall pulled the portrait shut behind them and aimed her wand at the fireplace, sending a jet of flame into the hearth.

Ginny pulled him towards a pair of armchairs and told him to save them while she ran up to her room and gathered the duvet and some blankets. To his surprise Harry saw that many other students were doing the same thing, while still more cast warming charms on each other.

Harry frowned. He knew that the temperature had dropped suddenly, and his toes were turning into blocks of solidified flesh because of it, but it really wasn't cold enough to warrant warming charms. But then, he remembered the feel of Ginny's hand in his, and how _very_ chilly she had been.

Soon, she had returned, carrying a veritable mountain of covers, which she dumped on the floor between them, throwing him a few blankets while she took the duvet, wrapping it around her and snuggling into the nearby chair. Using a little initiative, Harry called Dobby up and asked 'could he possibly get them some hot chocolate?' It turned out that the house-elf was deliriously happy to help.

Awhile later, when the room had warmed a little most students had retreated to their rooms to stay under blankets, it found Harry and Ginny siting side by side, staring into the fire. They'd moved closer to the hearth when a few older students had left, and they were now lounging quite comfortably in front of its heat.

"What was that?" Ginny murmured, still staring into the fire.

"Dumbledore seemed worried," Harry replied after a moment or two, silently asserting his ignorance about the issue.

"Yes. He did quite," she frowned and turned to look at him, taking another sip of her drink. "It explains why Hagrid was so adamant about the cold though. I wish I knew what it was."

"Couldn't it be some product of the magic in the castle? Maybe…maybe it's breaking down or something, and the cold is a result?" Harry knew it was farfetched, but it was all he could think of.

"No, I don't think so. Magic breaking down would send out a pulse of heat." Harry looked at her sharply.

"Then it was something absorbing magic?" he asked. Ginny looked at him steadily.

"Perhaps. It would make sense, since Dumbledore is so worried. The wards around the castle would be the first thing to go if magic was being absorbed," she told him.

Harry's head whirled with worries. "You don't think this is about Voldemort do you?" Ginny shook her head thoughtfully.

"Humans can't absorb magic. We each have a kind of magical 'signature'. Least that's what dad said. Magic that doesn't come from us just burns us up from the inside. Of course, there have got to be exceptions. I think you and Voldemort would probably be one. Any 'final battle' between you two is going to be very difficult I think." She looked into the fire distantly. "No. Voldemort isn't to do with this. Or at least, he can't be absorbing the magic directly into himself."

"I want to get to the bottom of this," Harry said finally. "We should write a list of things to find out along with the Grey family," he mused before chuckling. "Finally I know why Hermione is always reading. There's so much to learn!"

"I don't think that's why she reads," Ginny said with a frown. "I think it's an escape, so she doesn't have to face all these problems going on around her." Harry's smile reformed into a flat line, and he sighed.

"I know. She thinks that if she reads enough she'll find out a way to solve the world's problems and get away from all this stuff," his face hardened a little. "That's not why I want to learn though. I just realised that I've spent six years _not_ learning about the wizarding world. I mean, when we were in Diagon Alley that first day, I saw things I didn't even know the name of, let alone what they do. I've just been relying on Hermione to do it all for me." Ginny turned to look at him.

"I can help to introduce you to Wizarding customs," she offered. "When the Christmas holidays come we can get permission to floo to the central wizarding places."

"You can do that? I thought we could only visit Hogsmeade!" he asked with a frown.

"Of course. It's a privilege only available to the NEWT level students. You can get floo passes since once you turn sixteen you're legally responsible for your own actions once you leave the school grounds. On Hogsmeade trips you're still technically under their protection, but if you visit places like Diagon Alley you're on your own. You can take a guest along at the teacher's choice, so you'd better hope McGonagall likes you, cousin," Ginny explained, and Harry found himself gaping at his lack of knowledge once again.

"See? There. Yet another thing I didn't hear hide or hair about until you told me," he said with a half-smile, which Ginny returned.

"Let me guess. You think that the only completely wizarding places are the Twin Alleys, Hogsmeade, Platform 9 ¾ and the schools?" She grinned at him and Harry smacked his forehead in response.

"For a start the Twin Alleys were probably the only places you were allowed to go because they are the best warded against attack, although there is a longstanding contract of non-conflict in Checker Square." Harry raised a brow at her.

"Checker Square?"

"It was one of the Grey family's creations. Made by a really odd man who was completely obsessed with the checkerboard pattern. It was their tribute to the wizarding world just as Hogwarts was the Founder's contribution. As you can guess, the Twin Alleys are the creations of Sir Diagon and Duke Knockturne."

"Are there other places? What about Hogsmeade?" Harry asked, becoming increasingly intrigued by these new places and their history.

"Hogsmeade was the first fully wizarding settlement in Britain. That's partly where Hogwarts got its name. And there are quite a few other places. There's Checker Square, which we should visit first, Dreamwood Market, which is in a very old and magical forest, and Mercury Avenue, which specialises in glass, metal and rock crafts. I'm sure there are more, but those are the only ones I've visited." Her stare turned dreamy. "I heard there was a place that was suspended in the air, but it may just be a myth. If not, there's complicated magic involved, similar to the Fidelus charm because you can only find it if you already know how."

Harry sat back, impressed. Ginny was certainly knowledgeable.

"How do you know all this stuff?" Harry asked.

"I grew up in a wizarding family. It just rubs off on you I guess." She shrugged with a smile. "Plus, mum sent us to a nursery and then a small wizarding school nearby until we were ready to come to Hogwarts. We learnt a lot of history there, but more general stuff, not like Goblin rebellions or anything," she explained.

Harry probed her for more information and listened in rapt attention until they both decided that it was time that they sleep. Harry fished her possessions out of his pockets and set about resizing them for her before heading to his own room and unpacking. It turned out that his roommates were already asleep when he arrived, so he moved quietly.

His trunk was the first thing that he took out of his pockets, resizing it and putting it on the end of his bed. He'd learnt quite a few more locking and protection charms over the summer, and he promptly cast them over the case before returning to emptying the other items out.

The next thing he removed was the dream catcher that Fred and George had given him. He moved over to his bed, casting a sticking spell and hanging it from the top of his bed. The previous year one of the few spells he had become particularly proficient at, to his surprise and Hermione's annoyance, was the One-way Invisibility Charm. It could be rigged so that only the caster could see the item, or everyone but the caster. At higher levels it could be adjusted so that the caster could block particular people from seeing the item, but Harry wasn't _that_ good.

Since he wasn't very keen on his inquisitive roommates having a look at his dreams, he cast the spell on the dream catcher. Harry was particularly pleased with this spell, as it didn't affect the item in question, merely wrapped a cloud of invisibility around it, either crudely or closely depending on the skill of the caster.

Harry was very glad that he had excelled in it, because some of the books he had bought would need to be kept out of sight from his friends, especially Ron. Although he had been supportive in his second year, Harry was sure that he wouldn't take to a book on parseltongues.

Harry had found, to his great joy, that as a parselmouth, he was privileged to have access to a very refined set of spells created by various parselmouths over the years. He was quite able to read parseltongue, but he had yet to be able to write it. Thankfully, the book he'd bought in Flourish & Blotts had a simplistic guide to writing in it, and although at the moment he could only write a few sentences before losing his concentration and slipping back into English, he endeavoured to practice writing and speaking each day until he could do it flawlessly. Many of the spells he read about required such a skilful switch between the two languages, and he would not be able to perform the harder ones without it. The book didn't have any of the spells in it, citing them as the Dark Arts, but he was determined to find one.

Surreptitiously shrinking his more dubious books, he transfigured himself a small bag from one of the sweets he found in his pocket and packed them into it. The final step was casting the One-way Invisibility Charm on it and hanging it from one of the beams of his bed, out of the way of anyone who might end up touching it and discovering it by accident.

That done, Harry did a final check around in his trunk and pockets for anything else he wished to hide before heading to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and going to sleep.

---

**Author's Note**: No, apologies to those who were thinking there's going to be H/D slash – it's not going to happen. There isn't a pairing as yet, and most likely Harry will end up with one of the lesser used characters like Susan or Tracey. Or perhaps even Millicent 


	5. The Deep Chill

---

**Chapter Five: The Deep Chill**

---

Harry woke up with his teeth chattering and his limbs shaking. Despite what he had thought the night before, he was desperately in need of a warming charm around his bed and extremities. It appeared that there had been another chill in the night, and it had taken its time spreading into Harry's bones.

Shivering, he reached under his pillow and removed his wand, casting a warming charm on his shaking hands. He could barely stutter the spell, and contemplated the results of mispronouncing it whilst he was cast it on his feet. That done, he searched through the drawers in his bedside table for something to transfigure into a pair of slippers.

When he had finally found a scrap of paper, he padded into the bathroom, looking forwards to a pleasant and scalding hot shower. Therefore, he was monumentally disappointed when he stood underneath the nozzle shaking violently, and no water came out. Frowning, Harry peered up at it, and noticed to his dismay that the water had frozen in the end. Muttering to himself about bad heating and frozen water pipes, he wandered over the sink to retrieve his wand from his pile of clothes.

Icy water burst through the showerhead after a quick heating charm, causing Harry to yelp and jump backwards, hurriedly scampering away from the blaring droplets. Still frowning, he cast a powerful heating charm on the tip of the nozzle and was pleased to note that the water had become a bearable temperature. Still, his shower was hurried and less than pleasant, but at least it woke him up.

As he left the bathrooms he passed Ron, who wished him a stuttered 'good morning' through his chattering teeth. Harry noted that the other boy hadn't had the foresight to cast a warming charm on himself.

He was just unlocking his trunk when a girlish scream sounded from the bathroom he had just vacated. Grumbling to himself about life in general he returned, to find Ron thankfully still dressed in his pyjamas, shaking and pointing at the shower nozzle opposite. Harry was momentarily confused, since he'd assumed that the other boy was screaming about the cold water.

Raising a brow, Harry walked forwards to find Ron's problem. As it turned out, there was a small, frozen spider hanging from the end of the showerhead. Harry just shook his head and directed the trembling boy to the shower he himself had used, ignoring the protests that the water was icy. Obviously the heating charm had worn off.

By the time Harry had made it down to the Great Hall for breakfast, most of his dorm was up, getting dressed and complaining loudly about the showers. Harry left them to figure it out themselves. He was damned if he was going to spend all morning casting warming charms for his dorm-mates.

He was pleased to note that Ginny was already at the far end of the table, waving her wand over her scrambled eggs and sausages. Harry approached and shot her a smile as he sat down, piling food onto his plate. However, eating it was a different matter, for the food appeared to be the same temperature as the room. He grimaced and swallowed before casting a warming charm on the plate and then the food. Ginny just scowled at him.

"How did you get the charm to work?" she demanded. Harry shot her a grin, which made her scowl deepen.

"You have to cast the charm on the plate first, or the food will just stay icy," he told her, eating a mouthful of his breakfast. Ginny poked her tongue out at him and cast the spell, settling down to eat. They had practically finished when Hermione came downstairs looking wildly frustrated and angry.

Slamming her books down beside them Harry caught her mumbling under her breath about 'bloody minded fools' and 'fucking freezing showers'.

"Hey 'Hermione. What's wrong?" Harry asked blandly. She turned to him, eyes blazing.

"I'll tell you what's wrong! That idiotic redheaded moron came down this morning, and the first thing he did after running into me and making me drop all my books was start shouting at me before storming away!" She gesticulated wildly towards the doors to the Great hall. "Not only that, but I wake up freezing, go to have a shower, which was so cold it hurt, and had to spend the next half an hour casting warming charms because everyone else in the dorm was too incompetent to do their own!"

Harry flinched and edged slightly away from the girl, who started jabbing the scrambled eggs with a fork. She raised it to her mouth when Harry decided that it might be time to warn her that-

"The food is-" he interjected, just as she took a bite, "-cold." He winced a little as she shuddered and removed her wand, casting a fiercely controlled charm that set her food and plate steaming far hotter than either Harry or Ginny's.

The morning post chose that moment to swoop in, the owls looking rather the worse for the wear. Hedwig landed gently on Harry's outstretched arm, giving him an affectionate nip as a greeting. She looked rather tired, so Harry set her down on the table and warmed up some food for her, which she set into ravenously.

She hadn't brought him any mail, but the large regal looking owl that landed next to her held out his leg before joining Hedwig in demolishing the sausages. Harry unfolded the parchment with care, noting that it was his timetable. His first lesson appeared to be Mind Arts, a class that he was looking forwards to.

When he glanced up, he happened to catch the eye of the Slytherin girl that they had sat next to in the carriage. He held her gaze for a long moment, trying to get a feel of her, but just like her eyes, she seemed completely indefinable. Soon she broke the stare and looked down the table at her various housemates.

When his attention returned to his own table, he noticed Ginny looking out into space, although she turned back and met his gaze when she felt his eyes on her. They shared a look that seemed to speak volumes before returning to their food. Harry liked that about Ginny. They just seemed to understand each other without having to speak. The summer had really strengthened what had previously been a very marginal friendship, and not for the first time he found himself wondering how he'd missed their similarities before.

---

Only minutes after Hermione had left to get ready for her first lesson, Ron rushed in, looking livid and slammed his bag down next to Harry, spooning food onto his plate and shovelling it into his mouth before Harry had the chance to warn him. With a noise of disgust he spat it out and turned his attention to Harry.

"How can you stand to eat this stuff?" he grumbled, a plaintive note in his voice.

"I was about to suggest you use a warming charm," Harry said in the same tone that he'd used to placate Hermione. "What's wrong?"

Ron turned to him, his face transforming into a deeper scowl. "Bloody Hermione, that's what's wrong. First there's that argument on the train station, which she bloody started, then the moment I come down in the morning she crashes into me and starts screaming at me. Not only that, but those showers were freezing, and the food is cold! I don't know what's got into her…" he trailed off into muttering, and Harry exchanged a glance with Ginny.

"Why don't you two just screw already?" Harry turned and stared slack-jawed at Ginny, who was leaning round him and looking at Ron seriously. Ron's expression mirrored Harry's perfectly.

"What?" he gaped. Ginny shrugged.

"You obviously want to. Sexual tension. That's why you're angry, that's why she's angry. It figures." Ron just stared at her, his eyes boggling slightly.

"You are my little sister. Don't ever let me hear you saying things like that again. Anyway," he blushed, "it's not like that between us."

"Yet," Harry added with a grin, ignoring Ron's mutinous glare and packing up to head to his lesson. "See you two later."

---

Mind Arts was in an elegant classroom near the top of the school. One wall had several large, ceiling high windows that opened out with a rather spectacular view over the Hogwarts grounds.

Of the students already there, he recognised only Draco and the Slytherin girl, feeling a bit of annoyance that Draco was being allowed to learn something as powerful as the Mind Arts. The rest were a small mixture of people from different houses that he vaguely remembered. At NEWT level they had stopped sorting the classes by house, since many students had left, and those left made up relatively small groups, although this class seemed to have an abnormally low number of students.

Harry picked a seat by the one of the large windows, nearer the back of the class. He liked being near the window because it allowed him to not only be on the edge of the row, but it meant that he could look out and daydream if the class became too dull. He suspected that he would have little problem in that department, since the view was so captivating.

A few minutes later, the teacher entered through a dark wooden door to the front of the room. He was one of the few that Harry didn't know by name, and who rarely appeared on the staff table at meals. He was tall and thin, with dark hair that was peppered with grey flecks. His eyes were dark like Professor Snape's, but appeared sharp and inquisitive rather than menacing. As first impressions went, Harry was pleased with the look of the man. He appeared to be someone who was not only intelligent, but would teach the class with some passion. He couldn't have asked for more.

"Take your seats." His voice was smooth and calm, not bothering to hide his authority, just as Snape and McGonagall had in their first lessons. He peered about the room, eyes fixing carefully on each student, taking his time and noting their details. When his eyes rested on Harry he felt as if he was being scrutinised from the inside out, and instinctively tried to force the feeling away. He was rewarded with a very minor widening of the eyes.

"The Mind Arts are complex, difficult and challenging. At high levels it is more than the average wizard can ever hope to learn," he began. "In this class the most important thing is not magical strength, but control. Raw power is of no use, and even a witch or wizard who is practically a squib could take apart a powerful but uncontrolled opponent if they knew how." He paused, eyeing the room. There were several raised brows at this, particularly from Malfoy, but the class as a whole remained silent and attentive.

"The Mind Arts include several subsections that you may already be familiar with, such as Apparition, Occlumency and Leglimency. Later on in the term, I will be teaching those of you who applied for Apparition." He flicked his hand and turned to watch the chalk begin writing on the board.

"My name is Professor Sebastian Mercury." He gestured to where his name was busily writing itself. "In today's lesson we will not be learning about any of the subtopics I have mentioned so far. Today we will be concentrating solely on learning how to clear the mind of all the tiresome and inconsequential information that tends to collect there. To use the Mind Arts you need to not only have a clear, well-structured mind, but you need to be completely aware of what is occurring in all the layers of your consciousness. For the first half of the term we will not even be implementing magic in the lessons."

He let a smile cross his face. "If I may take a leaf from Professor Snape's book, I will inform you that there will be no foolish wand waving in my class, simply the sheer power of the human mind. Wands are no match for a wizard who has channelled his magic not through a piece of wood," he said disdainfully, "but through their minds. A wand is a secondary channel for magic that enables the less mentally controlled wizard to use and access it." His gaze swept around the class. "I can already see that none of you will have problems with basic wandless spells by the end of this year."

Harry felt a shiver of anticipation run up his back, and looked around to see similar reactions from other students. This man was talking about wandless magic, something that he had thought could only occur as a fluke or a myth! He allowed himself a small smile cross his face; Hermione was certainly going to be jealous of him after this year was up.

There was a tap that made Harry look up sharply. The chalk had just finished writing and had fallen to the small wooden ledge at the bottom of the blackboard.

"I would like you for the duration of the lesson to hand in your wands so that their presence will not provide you with any distraction." He gestured to a small tray on his desk and with another wave of his hand the wands in the classroom were flying towards him, landing neatly and leaving several distraught expressions behind.

"The effort of clearing one's mind is tiring to achieve and hold at first, but you will get used to it. We will be using a common method, whereby you select an image that seems to radiate a sense of self, homecoming and calm. Try and visualise a place, though I would not suggest the use of Hogwarts as a whole, since it is too chaotic, nor any place that is well known by many people, such as your homes. Choose something unique," he told them, drifting between the desks.

"Sit, close your eyes, ignore all distractions, mental or otherwise, and visualise a place. You must pick somewhere with strength, because we will be relying and building on your visual representations later on. If you have trouble, or are not naturally inclined to visualise with great strength, then I suggest that you focus on the sense that comes more naturally to you, be it sound, sight, touch, taste or scent."

Harry obeyed, letting his eyes fall shut and attempting to remove the sounds of distant speech and the small inhalations of the people around him. He ran through whole reams of images, but nothing seemed to have the strength he was looking for. Although he had distanced himself from the external world and its distractions easily enough, his thoughts and memories crowded in on him as he found himself back in the graveyard, running through the maze, underwater, fighting the dragon, in the Room of Requirement, in Gryffindor Tower, locked in a cupboard under the stairs…

"Mr Potter." Harry blinked and peered up at Professor Mercury.

"Yes sir?"

"You have not managed to find an image," he observed. Harry nodded in response, and the older man looked him over carefully. Harry felt that prying feeling in his mind again, but it was much fainter. Still, he felt a natural instinct to push it away, force it out of his head.

"I believe that you should focus on a place that is uniquely yours. Perhaps a place in your memory, perhaps imaginary, perhaps from your dreams. Somewhere that only you can think of, and only you know." With that odd comment he walked over to the next student, standing in front of them and observing them before moving on.

Harry thought hard. A place only he knew, somewhere private, somewhere from his dreams. Closing his eyes again, he resurrected the feeling of him standing in the darkness, one hand on the cool of the stone in front of him, listening to the drip of water droplets in the distance.

Slowly, and with great effort, everything filtered out, until he was left standing in the dark, the image flickering slightly when he tried too hard to maintain it. Harry began to get the feel of the strength of mental concentration needed to keep the image. Too little, and distractions came back in, too much and the image faltered and disappeared.

Harry tried to summon up the sense of peace and completion he knew he had felt in his dream, but he found himself increasingly frustrated, and it took him quite a few minutes to work out _why_.

Since he was remembering what was left of the dream, his innate curiosity kept prompting him to look around, to try and discover where he was, and why. He had been thinking on his dreams so much recently that it seemed an instinctive reaction.

After this realisation, Harry tried to shut down his curiosity completely, ignoring all the answers that he knew were there in the back of his head, and simply stayed and _felt_.

The cool humidity of the place surrounded him, the air cold and refreshing in his lungs. He might not like the place from an intellectual point of view, but he knew that it was home. Blackness surrounded him, shutting off his sight almost completely, and as if from some half-forgotten memory he could guess at his surroundings.

In the distance was the continuous dripping that echoed around the space as if falling from a great height. He knew that the dripping was important; a sound that called him on and told him that it was safe. He needed to get there in time, but he remained stopped by the rock that _shouldn't be there._

Harry's eyes snapped open in surprise. He could remember something. The rock in front of him was no longer simply a part of the dream. He had placed his hand on it as he stumbled, and stopped in surprise at the feeling of it before him. It was misplaced, something that shouldn't be in his way, something that was stopping him from continuing.

"Problems?" The Professor was standing before him again, and Harry realised that he had been staring into space as his brain worked furiously behind his eyes.

"No. I don't think so," Harry murmured. "I think I remembered something." The older man cocked a brow at him.

"Oh? Very good. It is important that you know all that you can about your chosen visualisation." Harry nodded and sat silently for a moment before turning a curious stare to his teacher.

"Does your family have anything to do with Mercury Avenue?" he questioned tentatively, and was rewarded with a small smile from his teacher.

"No. Mercury Avenue was a project created by the wizarding population nearby, and received its name from the trading of metals." He sighed a little, waving his hand. "My correct name is Sebastian Annua Mercurialis but, there is a certain hold one receives over a person when they know their full name, so I prefer to use the surname Mercury. Besides, many people find it difficult to remember my true name."

"You just told me," Harry stated, observing him carefully. He had the feeling he had just been granted quite a privilege, but he was unsure of what it meant.

"Very good. You and only you." At Harry curious look he continued. "Wandless and silent magic has its advantages. Your year mates are none the wiser."

"Why?" Harry asked apprehensively.

"Because to master some of the more taxing of the Mind Arts the pupil must trust the teacher. I have a feeling that you will need both trust and skill." Harry nodded hesitantly.

"The last teacher I really trusted tried to get me killed," he stated bluntly.

"I realise that," Mercury replied swiftly. "It may help you to know that after that the rest of the staff were tested thoroughly to check that they harboured no inclinations to kill or harm the students, or have anyone else do so." Harry let out a small breath of relief that Dumbledore had actually taken some initiative and done something about the insane teachers they got. Still, he wasn't about to make another naive leap of faith either.

"Scepticism is a good trait. To trust too easily will get you killed," Mercury said, walking to the front of the classroom once more. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat that had risen at the barely veiled reference to Cedric.

Harry looked around him. In the middle of his row sat Malfoy, eyes closed and an expression of utter calm and resolution on his face. Two rows ahead sat the Slytherin girl, who he had yet to discover the name of. She looked similarly calm, but Harry found himself once again confused by her. Whenever he tried to pin down what she looked like, it felt like his eyes just slipped off of her, not absorbing any of the information he was seeing.

A few seats away from her sat a brilliant yellowy-orange haired boy wearing a Ravenclaw insignia on his robes. Harry had seen him a few times in the corridors, but they hadn't shared any classes together before this.

There were a few other faces that he recognised vaguely, but quite a few that he was sure he'd never seen before. Every person in the room wore the same expression of calm on their faces, and Harry wondered if he had mirrored the same thing when he had his eyes closed.

When he spotted the time he blinked a few times in surprise. The knackered looking clock told him that it was nearly the end of the lesson. He couldn't really have slipped into a timeless state could he? Frowning, he turned his attention to Mercury, who was standing and observing the other students carefully.

"Please open your eyes," he commanded, and one by one the people around him blinked dazedly about the room.

"You may be surprised at the time, but let me assure you that it is not abnormal. What we classify as magical beings fall into far deeper mental 'trances' than non-magical beings." He nodded marginally. "I would like a few paragraphs on what you perceive to be the benefits of what we did today. Dismissed."

Harry shot him a scrutinising look before packing away his unused books. He wandered to the front of the classroom to retrieve his wand and was heading to the door when he crashed into the golden haired boy who had been sitting two rows ahead of him near the Slytherin girl.

The boy, who was carrying his books in his arms, was knocked into the wall, and a moment later Harry found himself stumbling to keep his feet. Harry found himself going a pink shade in his embarrassment, and knelt to begin picking up the other boy's books. In the background he heard Malfoy's jeering laughter, an the titters of a few other students.

"Sorry. That I bashed into you I mean," Harry stumbled over his words. The other boy just shot him a smile, and Harry was startled to see that he had deep amber eyes.

"Don't worry, I'm used to it. My younger sister never managed to get her balance."

Harry stood, three books in his hands, and proffered them towards the other boy.

"Sorry, er…"

"Chester. I already told you, it's fine." Harry gave him a grateful smile and handed him his books before making his own way out of the classroom, still slightly pink with embarrassment. He hadn't tripped over his own feet or crashed into someone for years. It was particularly embarrassing because the other boy was so stunningly polite about it all. Harry shrugged a little and headed towards his next lesson: Defence Against The Dark Arts.

---

DADA proved to be quite an entertaining class. He shared it with Ron and Hermione, who was babbling excitedly about her Politics lesson. Harry fielded her questions about the Mind Arts, not really willing to speak about it. He'd prefer that as few people as possible knew that he would be able to do wandless magic by the end of the year.

Strangely enough he trusted Ginny with the secret more than with his two oldest friends. Ever since the Tri-Wizard Tournament, his friendship with Ron had never really bridged the fault that Ron's reaction had had. He had spent more time with Hermione before the year had ended, but now she was torn between remaining close friends with Harry in a way that Ron was not, or succumbing to her desire to date Ron. It seemed to him that over the summer she had pretty much made up her decision.

He didn't mind as much as he felt he should. They still all talked, simply not as before. Their subjects never strayed from the safe and easy, and they remained together as a trio because it suited all of them to have two other people to talk about inconsequential things to in lessons. Besides, Harry mused, you stay friends with someone long enough and you know them well, even if you don't trust them anymore.

Their new DADA teacher was a stern looking woman named Professor Weatherby, who had thick brown hair cut about the shoulder and pulled into a bun. She turned out to teach in a similar manner to Remus, although she was a little stricter.

They began by learning about creatures classed as 'Leechers'. Under that category came Dementors, which leeched the souls of humans, Vampires which leeched the blood of humans, and many others, each with their respective foods. Harry found it fascinating, but Hermione seemed to face the topic with a mixture of disgust and ambitious perseverance. Needless to say, she was glad when the bell rang, signalling the end of the class.

---

The evening found Harry and Ginny huddled together in the library. Harry had finished his lessons earlier than her, and had spent his free time in the library, hunting down books on the Grey family, demon pacts and absorbing magic. His access to certain parts of the Restricted Section had proved useful in this, as darker books on demon pacts and absorbing magic were kept there. Indeed, there was even one book on the twins Romulus and Violet Grey, who had performed some rather unpleasant deeds in their lives.

Ginny sat in front of him, perusing one of the books on the Grey family. They had found the most private and secluded corner of the library to study in, next to a shelf filled with ancient and battered books on the History of Magical Etiquette and out of use spells. Harry doubted that many people would be interested in such a subject.

"Listen to this: 'The Grey family was distantly related by blood to Salazar Slytherin himself, although the families were reputed for their disputes. The head of the Grey family at that time was Count Tempus Grey, the inventor of the now commonly used _Tempus_ charm. It was through his distant cousin that he met Rowena Ravenclaw, who he became very close to. After Slytherin's dispute with the other Founders, and his subsequent removal from the school, Tempus Grey performed one of the first _Familiaris_ rituals, whereby a witch or wizard who does not belong to the family house is adopted, adding the family heritage to their own.'" Ginny read.

"So Rowena became part of the Grey family?" Harry asked, surprised. He hadn't heard of this before.

"Yes. It doesn't say why Tempus performed the ritual though," she said, frowning. Harry paused before answering.

"I think that they must have fought. What I mean is that if Slytherin was thrown out, it would have been Rowena who designed the wards to keep him out, right? Maybe he issued her a death threat?" Harry guessed.

"That makes sense. Being part of a family gives the person protection, instead of just a few people who are willing to help them out." Ginny continued for Harry's benefit. "Wizarding families, particularly pureblood ones, have a very strong magical protection, and when a person joins a strong house like the Black or Malfoy house is nowadays, then a degree of that protection is extended to them, depending on how much genuine love, loyalty and care the head of the family has for them."

Harry licked his lips nervously. "How do you become the head of your family?"

"Well, in your case it would probably be when you come of age in the wizarding world, which would be your next birthday, but other than that I'm not sure. I think there are probably rituals for it," Ginny said tentatively. Harry frowned.

"Who is the head of my house now then?" he asked.

"I don't know. It has to go to someone. Maybe you have wizarding relatives? I always wondered what happened to your grandparents," she replied thoughtfully. "It makes sense that you be sent to your aunt's house, because her blood would be the strongest, and therefore offer the most protection, but Dumbledore never mentioned any other relatives. I find that hard to believe really. Most well known pureblood families are related to at least one other, and the Potters were as pure as you get, although not in the same league as the Malfoys are in political power and wealth."

Harry's frown deepened. How many secrets had Dumbledore kept from him? He needed to find out if he had any remaining family, because from what little he had read on the heads of families, it was an important position, and they had dominating power over the rest of the family. Perhaps Sirius would know.

"Family ties are interesting you know," Ginny said, looking at him. "If you ever have children or something you'll need to know." Harry grimaced, but let her continue. "There are certain abilities that come with different bloodlines, like the Grey family's affinity for spirit and demonic magic. Most families guard them pretty closely, but I guess I can tell you ours, because it's not very useful anyway." Harry gave her a distracted smile.

"The Weasley family carries a natural ability to grow food and harmless plants, but it doesn't do much use because most of us aren't really interested. I think the Potter family probably has one or two too, but you won't know how to use it properly until you find out what it is." She raised a brow and glanced down at the book. "The Potters may be one of the most researched families in Britain, but it doesn't mean they found out what the house ability was. You'd need a private will or a surviving relative for that."

Harry paused for thought, before sitting up and snapping his fingers with determination in his eyes. "Right. That's it. We need to find out where my relatives are."

---

**Notes:**

Mind Arts - In the books Occlumency and Leglimency are described as an obscure branch of magic that is rather exclusive and very difficult to master. Since this starts with the GoF, I thought I might make them a little more general, something that all people can learn up to a certain level. There are of course restrictions on both Occlumency and Leglimency above the most basic defences, but in this world the Ministry has allowed everyone the chance to protect their minds, however simply. Occlumency and Leglimency are also not the only branch of Mind Magics that will come up.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, and any constructive criticism or input is very helpful. I'm hoping to be updating this every two or three days as the chapters are quite short, so look out for them. Hope you've been enjoying it so far.

Dream Red


	6. Meeting a Spectre

---

**Chapter Six: Meeting A Spectre**

---

Once more, Harry woke up shaking. He'd taken the liberty of casting weak warming charms on his bed as a precaution, but it seemed that the absolute cold had overruled them in the night.

His Mind Arts lesson had had a decided effect on his dreaming. The same things had happened, but this time he found himself retaining more of the details. Looking up, he noticed the dream catcher, which was surprisingly empty. Harry frowned at it before climbing out of bed and pulling on the transfigured slippers that he'd left beside his bedside table.

It didn't take him long to cast several warming and heating charms on the shower, and soon he was walking down the corridors towards the Great Hall. He ate a hurried breakfast, not seeing Ginny at the table at all.

He rushed through his first few lessons, making a successful Dreamless Sleep potion – "One success does not make a master, Mr Potter, especially in your case" – before ending up in the library.

Making his way through the shelves and stacks of books, he inhaled the particular smell that the volumes emitted. Harry liked the scent; it reminded him of cheerful hours spent with his friends, researching whatever current mystery they had discovered, or simply reading for the pleasure of reading.

He discovered Ginny on the small, out of the way table nestled at the back of the large room, talking animatedly with the Slytherin girl they had seen in the carriage. Conversation slowed as he drew near, and the two of them turned to watch him approach.

"Hello," he greeted them. "I didn't see you at breakfast," he stated to Ginny, and she spared him an excited smile.

"That doesn't matter," she said, brushing him off. "Opa knows a lot about the Grey family."

Harry dropped his bag on the floor and drew up a chair, turning to the pale Slytherin.

"Really?"

"Yes," she stated. "Our family has worked for them since before they were established as a powerful force in Britain. They originally came from Scandinavia, and changed the family name to Grey when they moved. No one knows their real name. It was lost in time." Her voice was as difficult to pin down as the rest of her, and Harry found that once she stopped speaking he couldn't remember what it had sounded like in the first place.

"I told her about our little ploy," Ginny said, turning to Harry. Harry raised a brow.

"I thought it was meant to be a secret?" he asked, but Opa reassured him.

"I won't tell anyone," she said delicately. "Our family were valued as secret keepers by the Greys." Harry shrugged a little, but remaining suspicious, however he eventually relented since he really had no choice about her knowing or not.

"The Grey family are interesting," Ginny said, looking down at the book in front of her. "They pioneered a lot of spells. They were reputed for inventing and changing known spells to fit their needs, and since they were such a large family there were many people who were each as creative and innovative as each other." She skimmed her eyes across the page.

"Look at this. The _Fidelus_ charm we use today was actually modified from one the Grey family used extensively to bind all members of the family together. It promoted honesty and loyalty between each family member, working on the innate blood ties that were already present. It meant that betrayals within the family were very rare. In fact, the few cases where there were any were either to do with a fault in the spell, or another overriding spell or law that cancelled the charm out."

"Why don't people use the spell today?" Harry asked, frowning as his mind turned to the various family betrayals he knew of, such as those in the Black family.

"It says here that not only was it carefully guarded by the family, but it was outlawed as a dark spell after Romulus and Violet used it to bind followers to them." Ginny frowned, and Harry mirrored the expression.

"Do you think that Voldemort used it on his followers?" he asked, not looking forwards to the answer. If it were true then it would make betrayal very difficult, which would mean that Severus Snape would almost certainly not really have defected to the Light side.

"The knowledge remains with my family," Opa cut in quietly. Harry turned to look at her.

"What's your family name? If you don't mind my asking, that is." Harry queried.

"Spectre. When the last Grey descendant moved away, she left all the family secrets with us, knowing that they would be safely guarded." Harry looked at her with a little worry.

"But…if you're telling us that, then someone might overhear. Aren't you in danger if they really knew that much?" he asked. Opa just gave him a small smile and shook her head.

"It's impossible to get information out of a Spectre. We are bound by our birth in such a way that we cannot tell entrusted secrets."

Harry looked at her with a new-found respect. Like everything about her, what family history was there seemed untraceable and indefinable. It was no wonder that the girl was in Slytherin. She had to be one of the most innately secretive and cunning people in the school.

"You've been dreaming," she said to him. Harry started slightly and blinked in surprise, shooting Ginny a wary glance. Surely Ginny wouldn't have told this girl about his dreams? They'd only just met…

"She didn't tell me," Opa said, inclining her head slightly towards Ginny. "I have a gift. It's a family trait, among many others. But your dreams have been strong." Harry just stared at her blankly.

"How…?" he began, before stopping. "Yes. I suppose they are."

Under her unwavering gaze he finally relented and casting a silencing spell around them he related the events of his dreams, and how they slipped slowly away from him. He added that he thought that his lesson in the Mind Arts had cleared his head and he had been able to remember more details from the dream. All through his description Opa remained distant, before nodding her head and saying 'interesting'. Harry felt a little confused at her response, but decided to let it pass.

There was a comfortable pause after Harry's description, and he pulled one of the books strewn on the table towards him, flipping through the pages until he stopped at a paragraph that looked interesting and began to read:

'_The Grey family's ties to Slytherin at that time had become weak, and the Founder was reputed for his disputes with the current family head, Count Tempus Grey. As a distant relative, he had a small say in family matters, and although he took a different surname, he held quite a lot of sway with many other family members. Thus he was often the cause of trouble within the house, as he openly opposed almost all motions put forward by Count Grey. Historians suspect that their enmity may have been deeper rooted than simple dislike, but sadly there are no accounts to speak otherwise._'

Harry read it over carefully. There seemed to be a lot of mystery associated with the Grey family. What could possibly have happened that Slytherin would disagree so greatly with the Count?

His thoughts turned to his conversation with Ginny the day before and he frowned as he thought about all that was happening. These chills still bothered him greatly, since if their reasoning was right, something or somebody was sucking magic from the castle, weakening it fundamentally each day. The headmaster had to know why that was happening, considering the hurry with which he'd cleared the students away.

Not only that, but he'd be the person to know whether Harry had any surviving relatives, something that Harry was keen to know. If he found out that the man had been keeping the information from him for all this time, then…well, he'd have to deal with it at the time. For now he simply had to take into account that the old man _might_ be hiding the information from him.

With a moment's thought he'd made up his mind. He would spend the rest of his lunchtime researching family ties and the power that the head of a house might have over the rest of the family, and then in the evening he would go and see the headmaster about it. That decided, he turned back to the books.

---

Harry had finished a page of notes on family ties when time began to slow again. This time it wasn't as sudden, instead he got a feeling as if he had been running and was now drawing to a stop. He lifted his head and watched dazedly as Ginny and Opa's movements slowed to a crawl, and the tiny drafts of air that blew through their hair as they exhaled made them seem as if they were underwater.

There was a building of sound again, a distant roar that seemed to be drawing closer and closer to him. Once again, as it reached a crescendo it stopped, and a chill swept across the room, burning into Harry's hands where he rested them exposed on the tabletop.

Harry started with a jolt, snapping back into real-time to see Ginny and Opa hiss and recoil, rubbing their hands and looking around them. Harry shivered slightly, listening in the distance as Madame Pince's voice rang out over the library.

"Please could all students return to their house common rooms. Any student remaining in the library will receive a week of detentions and lose fifty points for their house."

Harry looked around him to the two girls, none of them making a move to leave. He thought fast; he really wanted to see what the teachers were doing, but he couldn't afford to get them caught and lose one hundred points from Gryffindor for him and Ginny.

"Let's find out what's happening," Ginny whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially. Harry cast a wary glance at Opa before replying.

"We could use my cloak," he suggested. Ginny nodded excitedly before glancing at Opa.

"Do you want to come?" she asked.

"Why not?" the other girl replied. "I probably won't need a cloak," she stated, and Harry looked at her confused, but Ginny simply nodded and he decided to let it rest. Together they collected their books and packed them away.

"We'll meet you at the entrance of the library," Harry whispered, and together he and Ginny left.

---

It was nearly forty minutes later by the time that Harry and Ginny had managed to grab the invisibility cloak and edge out of the portrait hole. The corridors were eerily empty, and set Harry on edge. Every movement they made echoed around the stone walls and Harry became increasingly paranoid, until Ginny grumbled at him and cast a silencing charm around them. Harry wondered dimly why he hadn't thought of that before.

Their journey became far easier after that, and they only had to stop once in order to let a very flustered looking McGonagall pass them by. Harry was tempted to follow her, but Ginny reminded him that they were to meet Opa by the library.

The stone arch that held the double doors that led to library was empty, and Harry cast wildly around in search of Opa. He was certain that she wouldn't have left without them. Maybe she had been caught, but then again, she had seemed confident that she wouldn't need an invisibility cloak.

As they moved past the arch there was a brief flicker in the corner of his vision, and Harry turned, narrowing his eyes. There. Again came the flicker, and Harry paused, squinting further into the shadow. Casting a wary glance around the hall and ignoring Ginny's inquiring look, he reached an arm out of the cloak and waved.

The effect was instantaneous. Opa appeared quite suddenly out of the shadows, and Ginny gasped, stumbling backwards a little. Harry had a suspicion that she had been in full sight all the time and he had merely overlooked her, but he brushed it away and made a small mental note to ask her later. Dropping the silencing spell they drew towards her.

"Which way do you think we should go?" he asked. "We saw McGonagall heading towards Dumbledore's office on the way here."

"Then that is the way we should go," she stated simply, and they began to walk. Harry watched her for a moment, but his gaze slipped away and onto more interesting things as she gradually faded away from his attention. When he tried to think of her, everything became rather confused and inconsequential and soon enough they were nearing the Headmaster's office.

"-see why this is happening. If Albus refuses to tell his staff then we can do little about fixing the problem," said a voice that sounded like Madame Pince's.

"I can already see that it will bring great trouble upon the school. These deep chills are omens of the gravest kind." Harry glanced at Ginny and they shared a grin at Trelawney's prediction. Madame Pince snorted slightly at her comment but fell silent.

"I am sure that the headmaster has his reasons for not divulging the information," Snape's silky voice cut through the air.

They had now turned the corner, and in front of them stood a group of teachers outside the gargoyle statue, all wearing expressions that varied from mildly confused to deeply worried. Snape was rather an exception to this rule, for his face remained as blank and unreadable as always.

"That's fine for you to say," Sinistra grumbled. "You don't have to keep reinforcing the wards over the Astronomy tower, which are bloody difficult, let me tell you."

"No, I am called to take a leisurely walk out to the borders of the Forbidden forest and act as a magical aid while Albus strengthens the primary wards." Snape's simple sarcasm quieted the mumbled complaints of the other teachers.

"We were right," Ginny hissed at him, readjusting the cloak about her shoulders. Harry nodded and turned back to listen. He was just in time to see the gargoyle move aside, letting Dumbledore and McGonagall pass. McGonagall in particular looked drawn and tired as she stepped off of the rotating staircase and turned to face the group of teachers waiting for Dumbledore's verdict.

"We must endeavour to continue as we have been," his voice rang out, and Harry instinctively pulled Ginny back around the corner; he had had a few experiences with Dumbledore's ability to see through invisibility cloaks before.

"I will need each of you to contribute your skills and power to strengthening the wards tonight." He held up a hand to silence any complaints. "I know that this is draining for you, but it is important that you do so."

"But _why_ Albus?" Pomona Sprout asked him. "Why are the wards failing?" The headmaster turned one baleful eye towards the diminutive woman.

"Someone has been draining the power of the wards. If they continue at the rate that they are going, then the school will be down to the secondary layer by Christmas."

---

Ginny pulled the cloak off them and flung herself into an armchair. The Gryffindor common room was almost completely empty due to the fact that shortly after they had left the teachers, McGonagall's voice had rung through the halls telling the students that they were free to return to their lunch and activities.

Harry quickly tucked the cloak out of sight in one of his pockets, peering suspiciously around the room to check that no one had seen it. The only other people in the room were a pair of first years playing chess, so it seemed that it had gone unnoticed.

As he sat down in the chair opposite the tense looking redhead a thought occurred to him.

"Where did Opa go?" he asked. The name rolled off his tongue like a foreign word, and for a moment he was unsure that he had got it correct. Ginny stared at him blankly for a moment before grumbling.

"We'll probably see her in the library this evening. Damn girl. Wish I could do that." Harry looked at her quizzically.

"Do what?" he asked. Ginny gave him a curious stare before making a noise of realisation.

"Opa has spectre blood in her family. It's where they got their name. We were talking about it before you arrived." She appeared to think that this answered everything, so Harry questioned her further.

"What's so special about spectre blood?"

"Damn. I keep forgetting there's all this stuff you don't know." She shot him an apologetic smile before continuing. "Well, spectres are like ghosts, only slightly different. They're a magical creature rather than people who have died and chosen to stay on the earth. She said that far back in her family history, one of her ancestors married a spectre and they had children. Merlin knows how, but it happened. That gives her certain skills, like the one today," Ginny explained. "Basically, she can shift attention from herself flawlessly. She doesn't become invisible, but she becomes as inconsequential as the air we breathe."

"Ah," said Harry intelligently. "That explains it then. She's sort of like that all the time isn't she? I thought it was just me being odd."

"Yeah. It is weird not being able to see what colour hair she has or anything." Ginny stated. Harry frowned.

"She has blonde hair. The only thing I can't see the colour of are her eyes." Ginny looked at him sharply.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Blonde hair cut short around her ears. Sort of heart shaped face and very pale," he described vaguely. Ginny looked at him with wide eyes.

"That's quite impressive Harry. All I can see is the shape of her face and the length of her hair. I wouldn't be able to tell you if she was tanned or so sickly pale that she was green." She fell silent, appearing to be in thought.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"Nothing really. It's probably similar to how you can throw off the Imperius curse. Just strength of will really." Ginny still looked troubled though.

"It can't be. You're one of the most strong willed people I know." Ginny looked up with a grateful smile and Harry returned it.

"Thanks. But I don't think that's true." Harry shrugged.

"It's what I think." He looked at her carefully, noting the slight dent in her lip where she was biting it, and the tenseness of her shoulders. "Let me guess," he continued. "You're thinking, 'if I'm so strong willed then how did Tom control me so easily'." Ginny's head shot up and then she dropped it to look at her hands once more.

"Yeah. That's it," she agreed with a taut, self-mocking smile. "If I'm so strong, how did I fall so easily."

Harry sighed. Her experiences with the diary had obviously been troubling her for several years. Harry felt a sense of guilt that he hadn't noticed the changes in her before. Surely he should have known after Riddle himself told him:_ 'to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of _my_ secrets, to start pouring a little of _my_ soul back into _her.' No wonder she was so constantly troubled by it.

"The diary was an object designed to control and possess. Nobody, not even Dumbledore would have had a chance against it were he in your place. You were young, in your first year of Hogwarts, and you found a book in your bag that had come from Flourish and Blotts, a safe and well-reputed bookshop. Your strength then was in your trust." He leant forward, tilting her head up until she met his eyes.

"It wasn't your fault. Merlin knows I understand the feeling. You don't think that I'm not blaming myself for Cedric's death? It's the same thing. We both trusted that everything would be safe, everything would be taken care of and we both fell because of that. It doesn't mean you're weak. You fought the most difficult kind of opponent – one that becomes close to you by gaining your trust." He smiled a little at her wide eyes. "And you did fight it, remember? You threw the book away."

Ginny gave him a trembling smile, and Harry moved forward, pulling her into a spontaneous hug. She tensed at first, but he raised a hand to her hair, stroking it comfortingly, and she relaxed, holding on to him.

---

**Notes:**

I've realised that there are more than a few OCs in this story, which I hadn't before, so my only hope is that they are done well enough that they aren't too obtrusive. I'm sorry that this chapter was delayed, but I've been quite busy and became distracted. I've got a beta now, the lovely Antje, who has been very helpful in pointing out where I've gone wrong, so with sending the chapters back and forth it might take a little longer to post, but rest assured that there will be a chapter a week minimum.

Dream Red

'_to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of _my_ secrets, to start pouring a little of _my_ soul back into _her' – a direct quote from Rowling's 'Chamber of Secrets'.


	7. Picture Perfect Revelations

---

**Chapter Seven: Picture Perfect Revelations**

---

The Transfiguration lesson dragged on, not because the subject matter was inherently boring, but because Harry had promised himself that when it finished he would go on his way to discovering whether he had any remaining relatives left. Outwardly he was interested and attentive, but inside he was bubbling with anticipation and boredom, which resulted in a poisonous mix.

When the bell tolled for the end of the lesson, he was the first out the door, still packing his books into his pockets as he jogged lightly towards the headmaster's office. Despite himself he felt excited, and he cursed himself for feeling it, because some part of him knew that whatever answer the headmaster gave, it wouldn't be the one he wanted.

He slowed as he reached the gargoyle, taking a deep breath and in his head running through every muggle and wizarding sweet he knew.

"Chocolate frogs. Candied dragons. Lemon drops. Cotton lambs. Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. Erm." Harry frowned. "Pepper Imps. Toffee-" The Gargoyle promptly moved to the side, and Harry paused to look at it.

"Pepper Imps or Toffee?" he queried, but with a shrug he stepped forwards onto the revolving staircase and rode it to the top.

The multitudes of distracting twirling and spinning items were still sprawled all over the office, interspersed with small dishes of sweets. Naturally, on the desk lay a wide dish of lemon drops, but Harry had been rather put off them by now. Not only that, but he was sure that the man had some sort of ulterior motive for offering them to everyone who entered the door.

Fawkes was perched half asleep on his stand, looking rather worn. Harry assumed that he was getting towards his burning day. He blinked as Harry entered before flapping his tattered wings slightly and gliding over to him. Harry raised an arm, and the bird alighted, nipping him affectionately on the ear. It felt as if his arm had just been plunged into a pleasantly warm fire, and Harry smiled softly at the bird.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Harry whispered.

"Just behind you my dear boy," came another voice, and Harry started in surprise before turning to look at the man behind him. Dumbledore appeared drawn and worried, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, just what the man did to wear himself out so much.

"Good evening," Harry said tentatively, and Dumbledore inclined his head.

"I suspect you have a pressing reason for coming here. Well, sit down and tell me." The older man gestured to a chair and moved round to the opposite side of the desk as Fawkes flew back to his perch. "Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you."

Harry paused then, wondering how he was to approach this. Perhaps he should use a little Slytherin cunning and build up to it, rather than simply blurting out the question as he usually did. Bluntness had never earned him an honest response from the headmaster.

"Has…er…has there been any news on Voldemort?" he asked tentatively. The headmaster looked at him with an inscrutable expression.

"No," he sighed, "there has not. It is…worrying to say the least, but you should not concern yourself with him now." His eyes turned sad. "Enjoy this peace whilst it lasts."

"But…we can't just sit here and do nothing!" Harry pushed.

"Trust me, Harry. There are people doing all they can to stop him." He paused, looking thoughtful. "I suppose it is time I told you this, anyway."

"Told me what?" Harry asked, curious despite himself, but not without a hint of worry.

"There is a group of dedicated people that have come together over the years, forming in the first war. Your parents were among them, as were your father's friends. Oh yes," he said, correctly interpreting Harry's look. "Peter Pettigrew was indeed part of the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry swallowed the array of protests that rose at that. "And…this Order of the Phoenix, fights against Voldemort?" he asked.

"Precisely," he said, a smile reaching his eyes. "There are several Aurors who help, as do Remus and Sirius. In fact, your godfather has been gracious enough to lend us the use of his ancestral home, Grimmauld Place," he pronounced, before his expression became grave again. "I must stress this to you Harry. You are not to tell anyone of what little you know of the Order. It is essential."

Harry nodded slowly. "Can…I can mention it to my friends, can't I?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course. I would not ask you to keep it from them, not when some of their parents are involved. Indeed," he said, "Molly and Arthur are a great help. But Harry, you must ask them to swear to a similar secrecy."

"I promise," Harry agreed. A long pause stretched before them, as Harry thought of how best to broach his next topic. Misdirection, he decided.

"I've been meaning to ask you, why are these chills occurring?" he began.

"Ah. I should have known that one of you would come up here and ask about that." His eyes twinkled slightly at Harry. "Let me assure you, that everything is being controlled."

"You didn't answer my question," Harry pointed out politely.

"Ah. I see that you are not to be deterred today," Dumbledore smiled faintly and sat back in his chair. "These chills are the result of powerful magic, and that is all I am able to tell you at the moment. I do not believe that you need know more than that." Harry stared levelly at the older man.

"So you're saying that if Voldemort is sucking magic from the castle it isn't anything to do with me," Harry stated, and was rewarded with a slight widening of the headmaster's eyes.

"My! You have certainly discovered a lot," The other man replied neutrally. "But I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less after all these years."

"I have been doing some reading recently." Harry paused and formulated his thoughts. "I was speaking to a few people about the chills, and something else interesting came up. About family ties and their power. As you probably already know, the Head of a Family has a lot of control over the other individuals and is able to decide, among other things, when they marry, who to, and other things like the degree of power they have over their magic until the age of maturity."

In front of him Dumbledore almost sagged in his chair, letting out a deep sigh and looking at Harry with tired eyes.

"I wondered when you would come to me about this," he spoke softly. "I will have to apologise for disappointing you too, my boy. I believe that at the moment it would be safer for you not to know who it is. You do have remaining family members, but they are far and in between, and none of them bear the Potter name."

"Why?" Harry asked, struggling to keep his tone polite. "How could it possibly be safer for me not to know who the head of my family is? They have access to a great amount of control over me until I hit the age of maturity. How could they possibly not know? And if they do, why haven't they spoken to me?"

Harry could feel anger building in his chest, and it was with great control that he pushed it back and forced himself to relax back into the chair once more. Dumbledore simply continued to stare at him with sad eyes.

"Oh Harry. Yours is indeed a complicated case. You will simply have to place your faith in me for this – I ask you to trust that I have good reason to keep this from you. I wouldn't do it without due cause," he said, leaning forwards and looking over the top of his glasses seriously. "You must not seek out the Head of your Family before your next birthday, for the repercussions could be terrible." Harry scowled at the man in front of him. What could possibly be so terrible about meeting the Head of his Family?

"Are you going to tell me on my next birthday that Voldemort is actually the head of my family or something?" he demanded, and was rewarded with a surprised chuckle from the other man.

"No! No, nothing so drastic as that. It is simply that your ignorance on this topic is what is protecting you." He looked at Harry with pleading eyes. "Please. Do not jeopardise the safety of yourself and others by seeking out this information."

Harry almost growled in frustration. He knew he'd end up with an answer like this, but still somewhere deep in the layers of his consciousness he was _hoping _that Dumbledore might simply sit down and say 'Here they are, here are their addresses, they're lovely people, why don't you take a week off school to go and visit them?'

With a short nod he bade goodbye to the other man, stepping off the last step of the staircase before growling in frustration. His fists balled, he chose a direction and began walking, not paying attention to time or where he was going, instead simply concentrating on the feeling of his feet on the ground.

When he looked up sometime later, he found himself to be in a lesser-explored area of the castle, around where he knew the Mind Arts classroom to be. It was little wonder that he hadn't found this lofty sector of the castle before, secluded as it was at the top of the building, and sheltered from prying student eyes with several complicated age wards, as it was a privilege for sixth and seventh year students to be able to use this sector, along with the Restricted Section. There was a smaller subsection of the library that held books of greater relevance to those in their final years sequestered away from the rest of the castle. No doubt that Hermione had already checked half of them out. Harry, by contrast, had had little opportunity to explore this area at all.

The corridors were narrower, but had a greater height and were arched at the tops, lending them a more elegant feel than the coarser designs below. _Hogwarts: A History_ had mentioned that this sector of the castle was originally reserved for visiting guests and the Founder's official suites. It's position at the top of the castle allowed a freedom in the design of the windows and arches, letting more light in and even leaving some of them open arches, an action that wouldn't have been possible on the lower half of the castle where defences were of greater necessity still.

With a slight shrug Harry tucked his hands into his pocket and strolled down the corridor towards the silhouette of the darkening sky that he could see against the window at the end. He stood there for several moments, letting his body relax into a state of calm as he watched the sun setting in the distance.

The implications of his conversation with Dumbledore were not heartening. It seemed that not only was the man aware of both his family head and the implications of their power, but he was also aware that this person posed a danger to Harry himself. He did not like to dwell on what this person could do to him if they chose, but by necessity he was forced back onto the subject. If they were the current family head then why hadn't they abused this power over him before? Unless they didn't know of their position? Harry frowned. He couldn't discount that possibility of course.

With a small sigh he turned away from the sprawling landscape and continued his walk along the corridor, drowning his worries as he forayed into parts of the Upper Sector that seemed less used.

Harry found that he couldn't really remember for how long he had walked, so he supposed that it was quite probable that students wouldn't bother to venture so far into unused areas. After all, by NEWT level most of them had lost their adventurous streak and settled down into work.

Harry frowned as his thoughts turned to his parents and their friends. He was certain that the Marauders would have mapped this place inside out, but then why wasn't it included on the map? Why had Remus or Sirius never mentioned it? Perhaps, Harry reasoned, it wasn't opened as a senior sector until they'd left.

"_-there?_" Harry jumped. He was certain that he'd just heard a voice. Removing his wand from his belt he edged towards where the noise had come from.

"Is anyone there?" This time it was clear. A woman's voice was speaking quite urgently. Harry briefly questioned whether he should call out or not, but if someone was trapped or in danger then he'd need to help. He smiled briefly to himself – he always seemed to end up rescuing people.

"Hello?" he called softly, and he heard an almost relieved sigh from a small door up ahead.

"Yes? Help please!" Harry edged towards the door, tugging the handle before casting a quick _Alohamora_ on it. He instinctively sprung back as soon as he had opened the door, levelling his wand into the shallow gloom.

"Who are you?" he asked, peering forwards.

"Oh, for goodness sake. Pull me out and we can talk then. I've been in the darkness far too long for my liking." Harry frowned before using his wand to throw light into the cupboard.

Shards of light glinted off gold, and Harry gasped a little at the sight. Inside was a full-length portrait that spanned from floor to ceiling, depicting a short, skinny looking woman, around who hung a shrewd air.

"If you've stopped staring, you can move me out," she said, her voice clipped but her tones warm.

Harry obliged, and soon the portrait was resting against one of the walls. He couldn't help but stare as he read the inscription on the base of the frame. It read: 'Helga Hufflepuff'. He blinked and gaped.

"I would have suspected Albus to have placed stronger wards on me," she huffed. Harry just ogled at her.

"Albus? But…you're a Founder…and…why?" he stuttered, and the woman in front of him tutted affectionately.

"Of course I'm a Founder. Rowena, Godric and Salazar should be in this castle somewhere, although I haven't a clue where the old coot might have put them." she grumbled. "Honestly, locking up one of the Founders of the school! The nerve of that man sometimes."

"What…why did he lock you up?" he asked, more to keep himself from laughing hysterically than anything else. He'd found a portrait. Of one of the founders. Of course there were other frames in the castle that purported to be of the Founders, but they'd always been empty when he'd seen them. To have found Hufflepuff herself…Helga turned to look at him critically.

"I have no idea what goes on in that man's head, and no desire to. But whatever his reasons, he'd better have a damn good excuse for it." Harry winced a little at her cutting words. He'd somehow expected the Founder of the Hufflepuff house to be a little milder.

"Yes?" she said, peering at him, and Harry blushed, realising he'd been staring.

"I…I just thought you'd be a bit different. That's all," he mumbled. Helga raised a hand to her temples and gave him one long stare.

"What are they teaching you about Hufflepuff houses these days? Honestly." She sighed and looked at him. "You'd better tell me everything. Begin with telling me about Hufflepuff.

Harry went on to relate their failings in Quidditch, how they were regarded with little respect by the other houses, and how the Founder of the house of loyalty was currently viewed as a kind, plump, motherly witch. Helga just groaned and conjured herself a chair in the portrait.

"Dear Merlin. Salazar was right, the bastard," she muttered. Harry looked at her quizzically and she explained herself. "He always said that people tended to cast people in roles, and we would be simply because of what characteristics we chose for the students in our houses. He predicted that I would be the kind and motherly one, Rowena would be the quiet, knowledge driven one, Godric would be the just and noble upholder of the Light, and he'd be evil incarnate." She paused and laughed. "I haven't been around much over the past millennia, but at least only Salazar and I ended up like that."

Spotting the slightly uncomfortable look in Harry's eyes she turned a shrewd stare towards him. "Don't tell me. It actually turned out like that." Harry nodded marginally, and she let out another despairing groan. "When I see Salazar I'm going to wring his bloody little neck!"

"Er. Ma'am, you've all been dead for quite some time," Harry pointed out.

"I know that. I mean when you figure out how to take the charm off my portrait that stops me moving. If I'd known the man was going to do this then I would have fled into other portraits by now," she paused, looking at him. "I forgot to mention to you, but I'm incredibly thankful that you found me."

"I'm surprised nobody else found you frankly," said Harry, disbelieving. "If you're really Hufflepuff."

Helga snorted. "I'm sure the old man put more protection around us, but the Silencing charm wore off a year ago."

"I might be able to move you," Harry said thoughtfully, before adding, "for a price." He was damned if he wasn't going to get out of this with some kind of recompense.

"Ah," she said, her face becoming almost completely blank. "A Slytherin are you?" Harry chuckled and shook his head.

"Close, but no. I'm an honourable Gryffindor actually." Harry laughed as Helga scoffed.

"Close? How is that close? And honour my broomstick. Gryffindors are hardly more honourable than the rest of us."

"That's a story for another time," Harry said with a smile, and was pleased to see an answering twinkle in her eyes. "Where should I move you to?" The woman in front of him paused for thought.

"Well. I don't suppose that the Room of Requirement is still here?" she asked. Harry frowned.

"I wouldn't say that that was completely safe from Dumbledore. I've only been there once, but I think he has too." Helga hummed and frowned.

"A shame. That was a good piece of work, that room." Harry thought hurriedly. What was one place that no one else would be able to get to that he knew of? He felt a churning in his belly as he mentioned the one place that he could think of where she would be safe, even though he was loathe to visit there.

"I could…I could take you to the Chamber of Secrets I suppose." Harry said doubtfully, watching with some fascination as all the colour drained out of Helga's cheeks.

"He didn't really build that place did he?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper and she looked rather shocked. Harry nodded slowly. "He said that he was going to after that awful argument. We never really thought that he would though." She sighed and sat down once more in her chair, looking weary. "It seems that he has a lot to answer for recently. And no, no. Don't take me there just yet. It wouldn't do to keep a portrait down there anyway. I'll not even begin to ask how you found the place."

She turned her tired face towards Harry's. "Name your price for transporting me somewhere away from that meddling old fool and I'll do my best to help you." Harry couldn't help but send her a small smile; she seemed so sure that he would ask something taxing from her.

"All I really want to have is knowledge." Her eyes brightened a little at this. "I just wanted to find out about the castle. Besides, if you've been here since the school was built then you must have a wealth of knowledge in that head of yours." Harry shot her a rueful grin. "I may be a little Slytherin, but I'm not about to start asking horrible favours and debts."

"Well, thank Merlin for that. I don't suppose you could carry my portrait to my rooms could you?" she asked. Harry frowned.

"You do know that the whole upper sector where your rooms used to be has been turned into classrooms?" Harry asked gently. Her face paled momentarily before it transformed into an understanding smile.

"Silly boy. You don't think the Founders would be ignorant enough to actually stay in our 'private chambers' do you? No. They were just for a little show so we could entertain guests in them," she explained after Harry's quizzical look.

"Well…I suppose I could. It depends where they are. I'm definitely not levitating this portrait all the way to the greenhouses in one go," he said firmly. This rewarded another chuckle from Helga.

"Again, far too obvious. Salazar was good for something after all. He was the one who pointed out that no matter how much I liked plants, the first place people would look was near the greenhouses. Besides, the castle has a nasty penchant for moving places like that around. They ended up on the seventh floor in our stay here." She stood up and peered curiously around the picture frame to their surroundings. "It's been so long since I was in them…well. Start levitating that way." She pointed off towards a shadowed corridor on the right."

Harry was just about to cast the spell when she spoke out again, this time in a flurry, waving her arms. "Don't cast the spell yet! I've just remembered. I suppose you get used to the feeling of the spell after all. There's a simple, but subtle tracking charm on the frame. Just say _adsequor consisto_ and wave your wand anti-clockwise."

Harry did as he was told and soon he was listening to Helga's idle chatter as she regaled tales of building this corridor or that. Before long he was hopelessly lost, but Helga assured him that they were heading in the right direction. Harry wondered on various occasions whether it wasn't just some extended practical joke being played on him. Soon they reached a deserted corridor lined with open arched windows along one side, a plain stone wall along the other, and there Helga ordered him to stop.

"Right. It should be around here somewhere." She peered at the wall inquisitively, and Harry followed her gaze with consternation. "There!" She pointed, although he found it difficult to see what at, as following the gestures of a two dimensional painting was not the easiest of tasks at the best of times. Eventually he spotted a small nail pointing outwards.

"The nail?" He raised a brow.

"Hang my portrait on it and I'll let you in," she told him. Harry simply shrugged and placed heaved the heavy frame up – 'left a bit…right a bit' – until Helga was hanging from the nail.

She let out a deep sigh, and Harry took a few steps backwards as the frame began to glow. Helga stared into the distance as if concentrating on something else completely, but after a few moments the glow faded and Harry let out a breath of his own.

"His spells are gone now," she stated.

"How…?" Harry began.

"How did I perform magic? Well, that's a complicated story, and I suggest you go inside if you want to hear it. Rest assured that not even Merlin himself could get past me now," she said with some satisfaction, and swung aside, revealing a heavy wooden door where there had simply been wall before. "In you go."

Harry barely retained a gasp as he pushed the door open. Her rooms were spacious and elegant, the design of the walls and windows similar to that of the corridors outside. There were small changes however, for around the windows were delicate flowers and plants engraved into the stone that shifted subtly under the light. In the right-hand wall at the end of the room was a massive semicircular alcove with a deep rosewood desk that ran along the curved wall. There were neatly ordered stacks of paper on them, although one or two sheets lay out that looked as if they had been left there in a hurry.

Turning away from the desk, Harry observed the rest of the room. A fireplace burned from the opposite wall already alight, a fact that made Harry distinctly nervous. The entire place seemed to be completely dust free as well. A delicate looking sofa sat in front of the fire, decorated with the same flowers and plants that adorned the windows, and was deeply old fashioned. On the same wall that the desk was on, further down towards where Harry was standing was a set of deep shelves, housing a large selection of books. They looked to be in good condition, and Harry was almost overwhelmed with the temptation to walk over and begin looking through them. Merlin knew what lost knowledge was stored in them. At the far end of the room, on the left hand side lay another door, hidden in the shadows underneath the high windows. He itched to look into it, but he assumed that it led to Helga's bedroom, and he doubted that she would be very happy to have someone poking around in there.

"I'm glad you like it," came a warm voice, and Harry snapped back around to see another, smaller portrait above the fireplace. "The castle's kept it in good condition I see."

"It's a beautiful room," Harry replied in all honesty.

"You may visit it whenever you like, when I've decided that you're trustworthy." she added with a wink, and Harry's eyes widened at her. "Now, take a seat. I believe we were about to talk of my ability to do magic."

Harry nodded mutely and walked forwards, sitting warily on the sofa that he could only assume was hundreds of years old. When it didn't break, he let out an almost audible sigh and leant back.

"Don't be silly boy. These rooms are protected and preserved well. Not even the headmaster could get the castle to give up the secret of this room. Loyalty to the Founders comes first." Harry nodded, and she took a deep breath, conjuring herself a new chair for this portrait. "I am imbued with magic for occasions that demand it, although only when placed on that hook. The reason we originally made the portraits is to guard our private rooms. It took some complicated soul magic, but in the end we managed."

"Soul magic?" Harry asked dubiously. "I thought that that was Dark magic," he added with not a small amount of mistrust.

Helga let out a small groan and massaged her temples. "I have a lot to teach you boy. But we can begin with me learning your name."

"Harry Potter," he said, and he noted that her eyes widened marginally before settling back into their normal expression.

"Well then Harry, I give you free reign over coming to these rooms, although some items I'd much rather you didn't meddle with. But don't worry. I know the curiosity of your age, and they are quite well protected from prying hands." Harry gave her a genuine smile and pulled his shoes off, leaning back further into the sofa. "You wouldn't be able to do much without my consent anyway, and the castle will prevent you from taking anything out of my rooms without my permission. Now," she began, "first of all, forget all you've learnt about Dark magic being evil. Perceptions were beginning to change as people feared it in the end of my days, but mostly while I was alive people regarded Elemental magic in much the same way as you must do Dark magic." Harry nodded in understanding. He'd already thought much the same thing, but some habits were difficult to break out of.

"Secondly, Soul magic is not evil. It can be, certainly, but it is not inherently evil. Or good for that matter. Think of the soul as a neutral substance. Oh, and remember, the soul has nothing to do with religions or anything along those lines. The term used in religion merely descended from the magical use, meaning 'essence'." This came as news to Harry, and he smiled briefly at the thought of how enthusiastic Hermione would be if she heard about this. He'd have to talk to Helga about that later.

"There is a little bit of soul in many objects you take for granted. It was common practice in my day to capture a little of the soul in swords. Sometimes people used the souls of animals too, but that rather went out of use due to their unpredictability," she told him efficiently. "Even the Sorting Hat has a little of each of our souls in it." At Harry's surprised look, she added, "Well, how did you think it was going to know what to look for?"

"Salazar Slytherin's soul told me I would do well in Slytherin?" Harry said, half amused, half worried. Helga just laughed.

"We bound the souls together, and they formed a singular consciousness. So he did a little yes, but not in nearly so drastic a way. Moving on," she waved her hand dismissively. "In my day, the way you get paintings to move is by putting a little of your soul into them. Souls are naturally durable things, so they replenish, in case you were wondering," she reassured him, noting Harry's slightly worried frown as he pondered whether the same was true with wizarding photographs. It added a whole new perspective on them, and he found that the album containing his parents photo's sitting at the bottom of his trunk had become something he cherished more than ever. There might be a fraction of his parent's _souls_ in them.

"The strength of personality that you want in the painting depends on how much of your soul you transfer. I'm about half Helga, half paint, so as you can see, we made quite a dedication." Harry looked at her with surprise and a new respect. From what little he could guess, that was quite a feat.

"That is the reason that I can use a little of the castle's magic. Rowena came up with the miraculous idea of feeding a nail into the back of the portrait frame where it was hung and connecting magically to the portrait, making the nail a thread for the castle's magic." Helga ran a hand through her hair and frowned a little. "It is rather more complicated than that, but you really don't need to know the specifics. They were rather tedious to work out." Her frown dissipated and a triumphant smile emerged. "Besides all the technical jargon, it means that I can stay out of a dark cupboard at the top of the school, thank you very much." Harry felt a pang of sympathy for her. He had hated being locked in that cupboard at the Dursleys, but to be locked in there for years with no way out? It must have been utter boredom for her. Particularly as she had no way to shift through other paintings.

"So Dumbledore has no way of getting you back there?" Harry asked, hopeful.

"None at all, unless he wants to be _very_ forcefully removed from the castle," Helga said with a triumphant grin.

"Can I ask you two questions?" Harry asked after a moment of silence.

"Of course."

"Well, how is it that you don't speak old English or something similar? And also, if Dumbledore can't remove you, how did he put you away in a cupboard in the first place?" Helga nodded approvingly, a slight smile still gracing her face.

"They're sensible questions young man. The first, I learnt the way any other portraits do: by listening and talking to portraits. I had little interest in students at that point, but it does you good to be able to accurately converse with people when you feel the need. That was before I was locked away." She sighed casting a sad gaze around the room.

"Our private rooms are only accessible through our portraits. There came a time when it was deemed too dangerous for such an obvious doorway to be left in the open, no matter that together we thought we were powerful enough to withstand any attack. The other Founders and I took our portraits down and stowed them away in a safe-room, after storing all of danger or value in our personal chambers. That's why the room still looks rather a mess I'm afraid. All we took were our personal possessions, since we hoped to be able to return to these rooms one day. That was not to be the case. Our four portraits were left in the safe-room, and one by one our real selves died or were killed. We four remained, still agreeing that it would be too dangerous for students or teachers to spot one of us and perhaps make the connection between our rooms and us. Many of the objects and notes within our rooms were about the castle itself, and with them it would mean an enemy could undo our hard work - there were still many who were against Hogwarts then. About twenty years ago Dumbledore found us, and talked a little, waiting until we were asleep before casting the spell that stopped our shifting." She got a faraway look in her eyes.

"Oddly enough it was Godric who didn't trust him the most. I must say, that I am generally a rather trusting person, as is Rowena. Salazar distrusted him, but then again, he distrusted everyone he met. He was a Slytherin after all. After that he took us away and hid us one by one. I was the third to go before Salazar. Rowena was first, and then Godric."

---

**Notes:**

This chapter has been beta'd by the lovely Antje (Loewin on Schnoogle, go and check out her story).

_Adsequor_ (to follow after) _consisto _(to stand still) – I used the Latin Dictionary and Grammar Aid, which can be found at (http // archives . nd . edu / latgramm . htm) if you remove the spaces. It's one damn useful website, and although my Latin is rather poor, having only studied it for three years and forgotten most of it, it's helpful. Sorry for the appalling grammar and construction of the spells: generally I just stick two words together, which tends to sound about right unless you've studied Latin, in which case..well.

The Founders – I feel this is worth addressing. I began the story a long time ago, when I hadn't encountered so many Founder fics and realised what an absolute cliché it is to have their portraits and 'secret rooms' scattered around the castle, so I apologise. I did try and steer clear a little of putting them in the usual places i.e. Rowena's rooms in the library, Helga's in the greenhouses, Slytherin's in the dungeons and Godric's in the Gryffindor Tower however. Once I did realise how well used the idea is, I tried to make it at least a _little_ bit plausible for Harry to find them, but once again I apologise for the appalling and overused cliché it is.

A funny note about last chapter - I named Opa quite a long time ago, and I didn't know it means 'grandpa' in German :), which is how she ended up like that. Actually it's a shortening of what is meant to be her full name: Opaca Spectre. Again, the very helpful Latin Dictionary supplied the word 'opacus' which means shaded, shadowy or obscure.

The next chapter should be up in four days or so, depending on when Antje gets the time to look over it.

Dream Red


	8. A Second Visit

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**Chapter Eight: A Second Visit**

---

Helga sighed, and looked on Harry with distant, angry eyes. Harry didn't like to think of what she might do to Dumbledore when she found him. This train of thought however, rose questions in his mind. Why would the headmaster do such a thing? About twenty years ago. That would have meant it was during the time the Marauders had been around. Had Sirius or Remus ever mentioned hearing of something like that?

"Are you sure you have no idea why he did that?" Harry asked again. Helga nodded thoughtfully.

"It was so sudden. He looked very ragged and tired, like he'd been searching for hours. I can't even manage to understand how he bribed the castle to let him through those wards we placed, but then again, the castle has always shown a fondness for it's current headmaster." Harry looked at her quizzically.

"The castle is sentient?"

"Half sentient. Sentient enough to understand feelings and wishes, sentient enough to get bored and play tricks on students and teachers alike, but not sentient enough for rebellion, or names. It has thoughts, but no language. It's just a big emotional bundle of magic." Harry snickered a bit at her description.

"So, it doesn't have a gender or anything?" he asked, curiosity blooming.

"Oh no. It couldn't possibly have a gender either," Helga replied with a laugh, though it seemed a little strained. Evidently her mind was still on Dumbledore. "Gender is rather defined by ones anatomy, don't you think? Besides, the castle was created as a collective consciousness for its purpose, not captured and forced into it, so it has no recollection of _not_ being a castle." Harry made a small noise of agreement, and there was a long stretch of comfortable silence as he thought.

"Where do you think he could be hiding the other portraits?" he asked pensively, brain already running ahead of itself. If he could find the others, if they trusted him enough to allow him into their rooms…well, the benefits would be incomprehensibly large. To be able to talk to the very _founders_ of Hogwarts…that would be something.

"I can honestly say that I have no idea. They could be anywhere. I'd recommend the secluded places, but he may have put them right under your nose. From what I've heard about Albus he's a tricky one. They could be under the stones of the Great Hall for all we know."

"Your portrait was surprisingly close to your rooms though, wasn't it?" Harry mentioned. "He couldn't know where they are could he?"

There was a long pause, in which Helga stared across the room, thinking. "No," she stated eventually. "There's no way he could know. There were never any documents of our rooms, and we concealed them from everyone. _Particularly_ meddling headmasters." She spoke a little more, but Harry had tuned her out as an idea came to him.

"You don't think the castle could have directed him, do you?" he interrupted, and she turned a curious eye on the boy curled on the sofa in front of her. "I mean, you said it was sentient, so surely it would know what he was trying to do?"

"There is always a possibility. We are acting as the castle's mouthpieces after all," Helga hummed. "I will check with the other portraits around the areas where I suspect their rooms to be to see if anyone has seen the headmaster carrying portraits of us. Some portraits have enough of an essence of their makers in them that they are not bothered by invisibility charms and the like."

"Salazar's won't be in the dungeons," Harry said a little uncertainly. "It'll be around the second floor abandoned girl's bathroom." Helga looked at him sharply.

"The Chamber of Secrets," she stated, not questioning him. Harry nodded slowly. "What was in it?" she asked finally, grimly.

"You don't know?" Harry asked, surprised.

"He only told us that it would be something to kill all muggleborns when his heir arrived to carry out his bidding." Her eyes turned a little distant again as if she were remembering the incident. "He always did have a flair for the dramatic. It could have even been a spell for all we know."

"It was a basilisk," Harry stated quietly. Helga's face drained suddenly of blood and she brought a hand to cover her mouth in shock.

"A basilisk? Dear Merlin…how…how do you know this?" she asked hesitantly, looking as if she dreaded the answer.

"I killed it when I was twelve," Harry answered flatly. Thankful Helga didn't try to push the issue. It wasn't a memory he liked reliving.

"To have done such a thing to someone so young…" She drew herself up a bit with an angry glint in her eyes. "Salazar has a lot to answer for. When I find him I'm going to wring his scrawny little neck. A basilisk indeed? What was he playing at?" She continued for several minutes more, and when her tirade had stopped Harry peered up at her carefully.

"Sorry," she added, seeing him staring. She didn't sound very apologetic. "It's past the curfew. Or at least, the curfew in my day. Why don't you head back to your rooms and we can meet up tomorrow."

"Er, Helga? How do I get back? I haven't explored this area of the castle before because we only just got access," he explained a little sheepishly. Helga gave him a slightly smug smile.

"Just feel for the castle with your magic, and it'll lead you back. It's about time you got some practice in. Besides, I'm sure it's more than willing to help you of all people." Harry felt a little joy in his heart for that. Helga was judging him not as the Boy Who Lived, but as simply someone who had helped her, and done a rather miraculous job of killing a basilisk.

He stood with an answering grin and headed towards the doors, calling out to tell her that he'd visit tomorrow. As soon as he was outside, he turned his thoughts towards the castle itself, and imagined transferring his wishes on a soft stream of magic. At the far end of the corridor one of the torches flared up, and Harry murmured a small 'thank you' before following it.

---

Mind Arts was the last class of the day, and Harry was both looking forwards to it and wishing desperately that it was already over. He'd managed to get back to his dorm without mishap, which was probably something to do with the castle. Helga had been right about it liking him, for when he reached the Gryffindor common room he was filled with a warm glow. Harry pondered that perhaps it had been lonely after all these years with no one other than Albus around that knew that it was sentient.

Harry felt a momentary panic as he recalled Professor Mercury's mention of Occlumency and Leglimency. He wouldn't attempt to look into Harry's mind would he? If he did, then Harry was sure that he would find out about Helga's portrait, and ask more than a few questions, most of which Harry had no intention of answering for the moment.

Other than those worries, he was beginning to very much enjoy the Mind Arts. It was not like other subjects in that there were no exact instructions. Mercury would give them a rough template for their lesson, and they would have to work from that. The implementations to the mind were chosen and constructed only by the resident psyche, no one else. There was no one to tell him that he was meant to turn his wand counter clockwise or what enchantment to use either.

"Given that you have all become at least moderately able to picture your 'mental sanctuary' over the last two lessons, we will begin a new topic." Mercury's voice rang over the class, silencing the low chatter. "We will begin the groundwork for Occlumency skills today. You will start to understand the necessity for the use of a clear image or other sense in this lesson. An image," he tapped the board, and the chalk began scribbling furiously, "is used for the purpose of centring the mind. When you clear your thoughts and enter the place you envision, you become calm, and are allowed to think without distraction or emotion. These are important qualities for all of the Mind Arts." The chalk stopped working as suddenly as it had begun, and Mercury turned to the board and began to explain the elegant notes.

"The building of defences into this mental image anchors them, and with repeated revisions you effectively remember them as subconscious and permanent installations. The human mind instinctively links thoughts, places and actions to images or scents, or sounds. It is the way we remember things, which makes mental images such powerful tools. In today's lesson, I want you to clear your minds until you feel comfortable, and then I want you to begin the construction of your defences. They are not even remotely identical within every person, so I will be testing you individually throughout to make known any flaws." He spread his hands, looking over the students. "Begin by visualising them. You could use a locked door, or a barrier. Then imagine the function that you want them to perform. Try and be inventive about them; the more inventive and complex you make them, it is likely the more effective they will be."

"Once you have visualised them, you must focus on the reaction you would have were someone to break into your mind. It may be outrage or anger, but you must try and twist that emotion into your defences. That, along with the force behind the response you wish to get will be the fuel for repelling invaders. I will remind you once again that the Mind Arts are not for the weak willed." He clapped his hands once. "Begin."

Harry slipped easily into the underground cave of his dreams. The familiar sounds echoed around him, and he felt lulled and secure. A small pressure in his mind reminded him of the lesson plan. Defences, right. He looked around him. In the dim light all that he knew to be there was the rock on which he rested his hand.

Taking a small breath he stepped forwards, running his hand along the rock until it reached another, and yet another beyond that. He explored the wall carefully noting that there appeared to be a large pile of boulders between him and whatever lay beyond. He had a feeling that something special lay beyond, but what he was not sure. However, if his intuition was correct, then this would be the first barrier. It was already in place in the form of the tumbled boulders, but he knew that a simple blasting charm would clear them.

Focusing, he began to sort through the possibilities. He needed a way to get through the cave-in, but he couldn't simply create a door, or another entrance that anyone could use. It needed to be something unique to him.

_Parseltongue_.

It came to him in an instant of realisation. In the small amounts of the book he had been able to read over the summer, he was surprised to learn that like anything, it was full of different dialects. In parseltongue, each parselmouth or species of snake had a different mode of speaking, just like in human languages, but in parseltongue the dialects were far more pronounced. In short, each snake or parselmouth was speaking a distinct variant of the same language. That made it far more difficult for another parselmouth to decode spells cast in the language.

Harry began to work. He sensed that because this was his mind, his knowledge of parseltongue spells didn't matter. All that mattered was his will. The sibilant words flowed from his tongue, running over the stones so that they began to glow mildly in the darkness. He focused on the rocks, calling their solidity and strength into relief, adding an intricate weave of parseltongue into them. A spark of creativity hit him when he was finishing, and he imagined a 'force field' around them like he'd seen in sci-fi programs as a child. Hopefully anyone who tried to breach this first barrier would be thrown straight out of his mind.

Taking a deep breath, Harry took a step towards the barrier of rocks. If he'd done this correctly then he should be able to walk straight through them. One step, then another. His hand rose of it's own accord and slowly but surely it sank into the rock. Harry shuddered a little at the feel of it pressing around him arm, but took a few more steps. There was the weird sensation of rock surrounding him, hard and unmoveable, yet fluid. Then, he was through. A long, dark tunnel stretched out ahead of him, distant and menacing. He was about to move forwards and investigate it when a feeling, as of a gentle tapping came to him. There was a rush of exploded force, and the intruder was thrown out of him mind.

A yelp from beside him drew Harry into the present. Looking to his left, he saw the students around him shaking and rubbing their hands in evident pain. Professor Mercury stood in front of him, regarding him carefully.

"Was there another chill?" Harry asked and blinked in surprise when the Professor shook his head.

"No, that was rebounded energy." He raised a brow slightly. "Tell me Mr Potter. What exactly did you do to your first barrier?"

"I…made it so that only I could pass through it, and added a 'force field' that pushes out anyone who isn't me." He spoke hesitantly. There was a long silence as Professor Mercury observed him, unreadable.

"Very good," he said quietly before moving on to the girl sitting next to him. Harry looked thoughtfully around him. It seemed that his mental barrier had worked, but he had no idea how. He knew that it was unlikely that he had a natural aptitude for the Mind Arts, if his inability to lie effectively was any indication. On the other hand, he had a spark of creativity in him, and after years of living with the Dursleys he had learnt to read people well. He was drawn out of his musing as the lesson ended.

"Your assignment is not a written one, but I want each and every one of you to clear your mind and strengthen the barriers before you go to sleep each night. I will be able to tell if you have not been practising, and punishments will be the same as with any other teacher who has not received your work."

Harry absorbed this, walking towards the door as the rest of the class filed out. He was still deep in his thoughts when a hand tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly in surprise.

"Harry. Ginny and I are meeting in the library to discuss what we saw after dinner," Opa said quietly, her eyes distant. Harry thought quickly, trying to sort out when he would be meeting whom.

"I'll meet you after dinner, but I can't stay long because I have a potions assignment to finish," he lied sloppily. Opa nodded before drifting away, out of his attention. He walked quickly away from the classroom, mentally calling out to the castle for directions to Helga's rooms. As his back was turned, he didn't notice her curious stare following him as he turned out of sight.

---

Helga was awake and reading a thick book that rested in her lap when Harry arrived at the portrait. He greeted her with a smile, and after a wave of magic passed over him he was allowed to step through the door and into her rooms. Despite having visited only the day before, he still couldn't contain a small sigh of wonder. The rooms were truly elegant and lovely. He hoped that today he would be able to explore them a little better. He was almost certain there would be a veritable treasure-trove of items for him to find.

"Helga?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have a look around your rooms?" Harry asked tentatively. "I wouldn't disturb anything, but I'm sure you can understand that I'm pretty curious about standing in one of the school's Founder's rooms."

"Yes, of course," she complied easily. "I'll follow you about and tell you how to get into some things. If I refuse you entry to any room or box then you must respect that. Partially it is for your own safety, but there are other items that are personal, and I would like to remain private," she said seriously. "Understand? Good."

Harry nodded and turned to the room at large. He supposed he should scour it logically, beginning on one side and working his way over to the other. He walked back over to the door and looked about him. On his right was a set of shelves, laden with various trinkets, and on his left was a large trunk. Turning to the trunk he looked to Helga for confirmation before opening it. He gasped in surprise as he regarded the interior. It was far larger that it appeared on the outside, a set of steps leading down into what he thought was a room. After another affirming glance to the portrait Harry stepped into the trunk, heading down the steps.

Below was a small room with ample lighting and three tables that ran down the middle of the room. On the right hand wall was another lengthy rosewood desk, stacks of parchment and sheets of paper on it. There was a deep scent of growing things, and perfumes drifted over to him. The three tables contained a vast variety of plants. It seemed that over the years they had become somewhat overgrown, and many towered up to the ceiling, trailing thin tendrils along the stone. Harry moved somewhat hesitantly into the room as, from his experiences in Herbology, he had learnt to be wary of beguilingly beautiful and unknown plants, and those before him were both beautiful and unknown.

"Lovely aren't they?" Harry started a little as Helga's voice, turning to see yet another portrait hanging from the wall, although this one had become rather engulfed in the loving vines of a plant.

"If you don't mind my asking, why do you have a portrait in every room?" Harry queried. Helga shot him a smile.

"Sometimes it helps to have two minds working as one. When I worked in this room, sometimes I'd remember things that my other half had trouble with," she explained. "Oh, watch out for the snapdragons," she called, and Harry looked curiously around before noting a rather toothier version of the Muggle plant than he was used to.

"Oh. I haven't seen the wizarding variety before" he said dumbly. Helga chuckled a little at that.

"They're quite vicious little things really, although very loyal when you get to know them. I'm afraid they've been rather neglected these past thousand years." Harry looked at her, bug-eyed.

"Why haven't they died?" he asked. She sent him a small smile.

"I pioneered some interesting spells. I'll leave out the complexities of the equations that went into them, but their basic function was to provide the plant with enough nutrients and water relative to their size. I had just finished one that would limit their growth to a certain height before I died, so I didn't have a chance to cast it," she explained, a slightly sad and far away look in her eyes.

"So even the house elves don't know about this room?" Harry probed.

"No, not even the house elves," she answered, recovering with a smile. "They've been left untended long enough for them to outgrow their pots and reach the ceiling." She said, gesturing to the cracked pots and the tall plants that twined intimately around one another. If the roof had had sunlight pouring down, they would have blocked it out.

Harry paused a moment to think. He wanted to befriend Helga, as he not only liked her from their brief conversations, but he knew that there was a wealth of information and secrets stored away in her mind that could prove invaluable. Besides, he thought, he could do with learning a little about Herbology now that he was no longer studying it.

"I could always look after them for you, if you'd like," Harry slipped in, looking a little sheepish. The grateful look on Helga's face was worth the offer. This was obviously a passion of hers, and as Harry had experienced, a passionate teacher made an interested student.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, very sure. I'm not studying Herbology anymore, and I'm sure you could teach me a lot," he said with a winsome smile. He could tell that Helga was itching to begin, but restraining herself.

"Well, that would be very generous of you," she admitted delicately. "As much as I'd like to start now, I think that perhaps it had better wait until you have a little more time."

Harry quickly informed her that he would be seeing some friends briefly after dinner, but would be back for the evening. It took little effort to convince her to take him through the basic steps then. Harry was soon back upstairs, sitting on the sofa in front of the portrait when an idea occurred to him.

"Helga?" he began, "would it be all right if I ate here? That way we can carry on talking."

Helga nodded sharply. "Of course."

"Dobby?" he called. There was the customary pop of magic and the house elf was standing in front of him.

"Master Harry has found Mistress Helga's rooms!" he cried excitedly. "There has been much talk about this when the magic started again, but Dobby is so happy that it is Master Harry, sir!"

Harry looked down at the ecstatic elf, surprised. "You know about these rooms?"

"Oh yes Master Harry sir!" he exclaimed. "The house elves knew of them, they felt the magic sir! Dobby should have known that the Great Harry Potter would find them!"

Harry laughed nervously. "Well…I found them more by chance really." Dobby beamed at him, and Harry decided to ask his original question. "Dobby, would you be able to bring me my dinner here?"

"Oh, yes of course Master Harry, sir! Dobby is honoured that Master Harry has chosen him to bring you food." Dobby did a little bow at this.

"Dobby." Helga's voice floated over them, causing the house elf to jump and then bowed even lower to her portrait. "Neither you or the other house elves are to mention this room or Harry's knowledge of it to Headmaster Dumbledore. Nor are you to mention that my portrait has been moved. Do you understand?" Helga commanded sternly, and Dobby became sombre and bowed formerly.

"Of course Mistress Helga." With another pop Dobby had vanished.

Soon enough, several plates stacked with food appeared on the low table between Harry and the fireplace. He tucked in eagerly, thinking as he ate.

"Helga? Do you think that the house elves might know where the other portraits are?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Ah," she hummed. "Now that is an idea that I hadn't thought of. And if I ask them then my status will overrule that of Albus'." There was barely a pause before she called Dobby back into the room.

"Dobby, have you or any of the other house elves seen the Headmaster carrying portraits of the Founders?" she asked.

"Mistress Helga, Dobby himself has not, but other house elves may have. He will ask the other house elves." Before he could disappear again Helga cut in.

"Oh, and have you or any of the other house elves heard of such a thing happening from the portraits or suits of armour?" she asked.

"Dobby will have to check, Mistress Helga," he said promptly, vanishing again.

Throughout the rest of the meal they made idle chatter about the castle, and Harry learnt about its building and structure far more intimately than he ever had before. When he had finished he bade her goodbye, promising to return within the hour so that they could begin trimming back and tending to the plants. She assured him that Dobby would probably have returned by then too.

---

Harry located Ginny and Opa sitting in their usual haunt at the back of the library. Once again when he arrived he found them deep in conversation, but that petered off once he sat down.

"Well…that was quite a discovery," he said calmly, referring to their escapades the previous evening. Ginny leant forwards, turning her bright eyes towards him.

"The primary wards falling it quite drastic," she said hesitantly. Harry nodded.

Helga had told him quite a bit about the warding system over the school. The primary wards were those at the very edge of the Hogwarts grounds, and were designed to keep ill meaning magical beasts and wizarding folk out of the school. They were also intimately tied to the secondary wards, creating an anti-apparition dome over the school. Technically you could apparate to the soil or rock underneath the school, but all open places were restricted. Helga had been unsure about whether the anti-apparition wards covered the Chamber of Secrets, but until they found Slytherin's portrait or Harry leant apparition then they wouldn't know.

"If the primary wards fall then a powerful wizard could apparate into the school," Harry added. Ginny looked at him wide-eyed.

"Voldemort is very powerful," she said, stating the obvious thing that was at the forefront of both their minds.

"The Dark Lord will not try to apparate into the school grounds. He has tried that before and has already written off the possibility I suspect," Opa interjected serenely, earning her odd looks from the other two.

"The staff didn't sound as if they were researching this very hard," Harry murmured noncommittally, breaking the ensuing silence. "Dumbledore sounded as if he were simply resigned to it happening." Ginny nodded.

"I for one want to figure this out," she said firmly. "You, Hermione and Ron have uncovered mysteries like this before, and you can probably do it again." Harry smiled ruefully, despite the small twinge of guilt he got in his belly at the mention of Ron and Hermione. They'd been so wrapped up in their arguments and obvious desire for each other recently, and he hadn't exactly been paying them a lot of attention…

"Talking of mysteries, I have another one for you. Apparently I can't find the head of my family before I turn seventeen unless I'm to put myself and others in danger." Harry smirked bitterly. "As usual, the headmaster has a big bag labelled 'Harry's Secrets' that he's keeping from me."

"Perhaps he simply dislikes the idea of someone having more control over you than he does," Opa said quietly. Harry sent her a shrewd look before replying hesitantly.

"Why would you think that?" She shrugged a little and turned those undefined eyes directly on him, making him shiver a little.

"He must care for you, but you are the weapon of the Light," she told him smoothly. "Your status as a figurehead for their cause is more important to him than what care he has for your wellbeing. If the head of your family, for whatever reason, dislikes you or has reason to manipulate you then any such hold over you would weaken your power as a weapon and your alliance to the headmaster. Everyone is aware of your position as 'hero'. It is why the Minister Fudge has been running you into the ground these past months, if we ignore your declarations about He-Who-Must-Be-Named. Your opinions and choices hold a lot of sway over the wizarding world, and the headmaster knows it."

Harry frowned angrily and sat back, head reeling. She'd just stated all the things that had been bothering him for so long, and he didn't want to believe it. He knew that somewhere Albus had some affection for him, but that was so far outweighed by his 'figurehead of the Light' status that Harry felt he could no longer trust the man wholeheartedly. Especially if the issue had any bearing to the war, and every issue had bearing to the war where Harry was concerned. The main problem was that the old man wholeheartedly thought that he was doing the _right_ _thing_.

"I don't care what the headmaster thinks." Ginny's furious tone broke through his gloomy thoughts. "Harry, if you want to find your family he has no right to keep you from that information. I'm almost sure that by law he is obliged to help you, but he'll probably be able to wriggle his way out of that one. If you want help, I'll try my best to do whatever you need me to do."

Harry had to smile at her fervour.

"Thanks Gin."

"I wouldn't mind helping you," Opa's voice cut in. "My mother is always telling me that I should practise my research in family links. We probably have more resources than you'd ever get access to." Harry sent the blonde girl a nod of thanks in response. Opa snapped her fingers, turning his attention back to her.

"I can begin by telling you about how wizarding families are structured. It's complex and difficult. I'm surprised that they don't teach a course on it in Hogwarts, but I suppose they take that knowledge for granted. Mudbloods don't need to know about wizarding family heritage, and purebloods are weaned on it." Both Harry and Ginny bristled a little at the use of the word 'mudblood', but kept quiet because Opa had mentioned it so completely without malice. Harry almost cut in with an angry retort, but thought better of it at the last moment. After all, she was helping him wasn't she?

"Wizarding family ties are both by blood and magic. The strongest ties are when the two of them combined, but each can be accounted for separately, which is the reason that Squibs and adopted family members are still completely part of the family. The laws concerning ties between humans and magical beings are a little foggy, but creatures like Veelas are openly accepted into the family." Opa seemed to come out of her impenetrable shell and began speaking in a calm, fluid voice.

"From what Ginny has said, you are tied to your Muggle relatives by blood. You may have no relatives tied to you by blood and magic, but there may be a few who have purely magical ties to you. This means that by your definition the head of your house could not even bear the same surname as you, but still be one of your closest relatives."

Harry blinked. He was having a hard time bending his head round this. Magical ties? He could be related to people by strong magic? But did that mean that…

"Voldemort really could be related to me?" he blurted out. Opa looked at him for a long moment, leaving enough time for the muscles in his chest to clench violently in worry. That would certainly fit with Albus's warnings but he had said…

"Voldemort cannot be related to you. One of the less used ancient clauses of a magical tie is that if the other person wishes you dead or severely harmed then they cannot become the head of your house. The bond changes in that sense."

Harry rubbed his temples as he thought. "So if Voldemort stopped wanting to kill me, then he would become the head of my family?" Opa shrugged a little.

"Theoretically he could have, but the position has already been moved to someone else, and he no doubt hasn't realistically considered the option. He probably wouldn't be a first choice to begin with anyway." Harry let out a small breath of relief that he hadn't realised he had been holding, and to the side of him he heard Ginny do the same.

"Well, I thank whatever Fates have decided to be kind to me today. That would have been too ironic to even predict," Harry half-smiled, mentally running over the potential candidates for the Head of House Potter. He briefly paused on Sirius, but dismissed it with regret. Dumbledore had told him not to go looking for them, and that implied that he hadn't already met the person. Sirius was out then.

"There is always a possibility that the head of your family could be a ghost," Opa suggested softly.

"A ghost?" Harry was incredulous.

"If all your living relatives have died, but one of them stayed behind then they would get the title of Head of House Potter. It seems unlikely, but we shouldn't rule out the possibility. The House of Potter would undoubtedly have a ghost somewhere along the line. It just depends whether they've moved on or not." Harry groaned.

"Six years of living in wizarding society and there are still things that confuse me," he protested.

"You'll catch on eventually," Ginny said with a wry smile, pulling one of the volumes on the tabletop towards her. "Now, in preparation for a worst case scenario we'll need to know what power the head of your family has over you…"

---

**Notes:**

Sorry for taking so long with the chapter – I've been quite busy with course-work and such, and Real Life interferes more than I'd anticipated. This is my own little take on ancestry and family links, which should give some indication of how magical children are adopted in this world.

Thanks for the reviews - they're much appreciated, even those of you who dropped by just a few words to let me know you're reading and enjoying it. The next chapter should be up in three to four days, as usual.

Dream Red


	9. A Greenhouse In A Box

---

Chapter Nine: A Greenhouse In A Box 

---

It was a full twenty minutes past the promised time when Harry finally managed to escape the library. Both Opa and Ginny had been quite adamant about learning all they could about family magic, and Harry's head was buzzing as he walked through the elegant corridors towards Helga's room.

He was pleased to note the flickering fire in the hearth and the raised temperature of the room, and he gladly flopped down onto the spacious sofa before it, raising his hands and warming them.

"Your friends kept you?" Helga's mild voice floated down to him. Harry nodded at her, still rubbing his cold hands. The downside of having lovely wide open arched windows in the corridors was that without the panes of glass to keep the wind out it got rather cold, especially as the weather was beginning to turn. The better used corridors had charms to keep out the weather, but since this part of the castle was deeply neglected it seemed as if they had decayed.

"I was expecting you to be late anyway. You've turned up surprisingly early really," the older woman said with a small smile, and Harry shot her a responding grin. "I do understand if you want to wait to a later date to get started on the plants…" she trailed off, but Harry cut off her thread.

"I said I would, and I will. Although I'll have to leave before it gets too late." He shot her a mischievous smile. "Besides, what's the use of having an invisibility cloak if you don't get to use it?"

"I don't envy Albus or the other teachers their positions in trying to control you," she said sternly, but Harry could see the humour sparkling in her eyes.

"Actually Albus was the one to return it to me. It was my father's," Harry said impishly, but his face took on a slight melancholy at the mention of his parents.

"Was? Your father has passed away?" Helga asked gently. Harry nodded.

"Voldemort killed both my parents," Harry said shortly, before musing, "I really should fill you in on the events that happened in your absence."

"No, no. Don't worry, I have found out most of what I need to from the older and more sensible portraits around the castle. Suffice to say, they are happy to see me again, as am I to see them." Harry inwardly thanked her for drawing the topic away from his loss. He never liked to see pity in other people's eyes at the mention of their deaths.

"Voldemort is Salazar Slytherin's heir you know. Slytherin built the Chamber so that his heir would come along and finish the job." Harry ran a worried hand through his hair. "I'm rather glad the it's is dead really. I'd hate to think what Voldemort could do with a fully grown Basilisk." Helga shuddered a little.

There was a short pause in which Harry called a house elf up to him with orders for a pot of coffee. Within moments a tray appeared in front of him, a steaming milky coffee in a floral cup set on its surface. There was a small bowl for sugar, and a jug of milk. He took a grateful sip and settled back more comfortably on the sofa before Helga began telling him about the plants.

"The snapdragons will give you a nice taste of what's to come, and unlike some of the others their bite is quite harmless." Harry forced back an uneasy feeling in his stomach. "There is quite a bit of protective equipment down there, so don't you worry. Although you may need to reinforce the charms on them when you deal with the Spitting Tangleweed; it has quite the deadly dart when disturbed, and the protective suits were spelled for a much smaller plant." Harry raised a brow at her, but she carried on as if she hadn't noticed.

"It's going to take a lot of work. As you know, magical plants aren't so simple to cut back as Muggle ones, and these have got used to having their own way since I died." She got a far away look in her eyes as she thought of them. "Yes, I think you should start with the snapdragons. They're chatty little things, so if you treat them well then they'll pass the word around."

"Pass the word around?" he repeated sceptically.

"Oh dear. What do they teach you in Herbology these days?"

---

Harry spent the next few hours sorting through the equipment and laying it out according to Helga's instructions. There were a great many tools for pruning, cutting, trimming, snipping, digging and re-potting, many of which Harry hadn't even seen before. After he had boosted the spells on them he began to tend to the snapdragons.

Helga was right; they were vicious snappy things. Harry was suddenly glad for the shoulder-length dragonhide gloves. Still, under her calm and sensible voice he managed to cut them down to a reasonable size, re-pot them and change their nutrient and water spells.

By the time he had finished he was utterly exhausted and sweating from the exertion. When Helga told him that they'd finished it was all he could do to nod and walk up the stairs, collapsing heavily on the sofa. He called a house elf for another cup of coffee and leaned back to enjoy it.

"You did a wonderful job you know," Helga said, peering at him a little worriedly. "You have a good touch with plants. I suspect you would have done well if you had continued with Herbology." Harry gave her a small smile for her praise. It had been hard work, but it had been a purely physical exertion that took his mind off everything that was going on around him recently.

"You'd like a boy I know. He's called Neville," Harry told her. "He's in Gryffindor and very shy, but he just has this way with plants. It's the only subject he's any good at, and I'm not saying that to be cruel." Helga shook her head.

"No, I'm sure you're not. From the little we've spoken, you don't seem to be one disposed towards cruelty." Harry gave a bitter little laugh.

"That's because I've been the subject all too often. There's no reason to make things worse for people if they're going to face it for the rest of their lives." He waved his hand vaguely. "Besides, it always comes back to bite you in the end."

"Quite," she chuckled a little, but was cut short by a sudden crack.

"Master Harry, Mistress Helga! Dobby has spoken to all the house elves and has brought you news!" the house elf squeaked.

"Good. Tell me," Helga commanded him firmly, but curiosity was glistening in her eyes.

"Well…at first Dobby was unsure if _any_ of the house elves had heard of such a thing. He was so close to being disappointed, but then he remembered the older house elves telling him of two who were dismissed!" He beamed at them.

"Dobby made sure not to let the headmaster know where he was going, for he was following Mistress Helga's orders. He spent all day searching for them sir and miss, all day! But finally he found them, and when Dobby told them why he was there, they were happy to be able to help." Harry nodded for him to continue.

"Headmaster Dumbledore _himself_ dismissed them! They had seen him carrying a portrait of none other than Mistress Rowena, and he did not want them to tell the other elves or let the information go." Dobby was practically babbling in excitement here.

"Go on," Harry encouraged.

"Well, master, mistress, Dobby asks them where they saw the portrait, for he was sure he had never seen such a thing himself, and a house elf is required to know every room in the castle. The house elves told him that they came from the 'hide and scare room', and that house elves were not allowed there. They told Dobby that the Headmaster was very worried and very angry."

"Where was he carrying them to Dobby?" Harry asked.

"Dobby cannot say when Master Harry asks, sir. Dobby is not allowed by rules." He shook his head mournfully.

"The same question from me then," Helga said quickly.

"Dobby spoke to the other elves, and they said that he was in the dungeons, Mistress Helga." Helga looked shocked.

"The dungeons? Why would her chambers be in the dungeons?" She paused slightly before her face cracked into a smile. "Oh, Rowena was always the crafty one. No one in their right minds by Salazar would have rooms down there, and he avoided them because they were too obvious a place for them to be." Turning to the worried looking house elf she spoke again.

"Thank you Dobby. I am very pleased. Although both you and the other house elves _must_ keep this a secret. The headmaster above all people must not know of this," she said sternly, and Dobby babbled his half-happy half-scared agreement.

Once he had disappeared she turned to Harry with the same stern expression. "Off to bed with you young man. This can wait a few more days. You'll do no more rushing around tonight." Harry smirked at her.

"What makes you think I would?" She just scowled at him.

"You have far too much Slytherin in you my dear. Off to bed. Come visit me soon, but make sure you don't neglect your friends." Harry paused by the door, hesitant.

"Helga? I'm not considering doing this any time soon, but I was wondering anyway. Can I show my friends these rooms some time? They are perfectly capable at keeping secrets, and they'd be utterly fascinated. Particularly Hermione." Helga's face went completely blank for a moment, and Harry suddenly felt as if he'd said the wrong thing entirely.

"Yes," she said after a minute of deliberation, "you may. But for their sakes, I hope you pick trustworthy friends. And for Merlin's sake, if you find Salazar's rooms, don't, whatever you do, bring them there or linger longer than you have to. He's the type of man to infest even his rooms with nasty traps."

"Thank you. I'll see you soon. And don't worry, I won't bring any friends here until we've at least cleared the greenhouse and I've got a chance to look around," he said with a wink.

---

The next few days flew by for Harry. He divided his time between doing his work, spending time in Helga's rooms talking, researching in the library with Ginny and Opa, and breaking up increasingly petty arguments between Ron and Hermione.

They seemed so wrapped up in their conflicts with each other that Harry had really ceased to become a player in their contests, and while he still spoke to both of them when he got the chance, he ended up spending most of his time talking to Ginny. As it turned out, there was a lot he had missed in the youngest Weasley. She was smart, witty and quick, and when it came down to it, had a thirst for knowledge that could rival Hermione's. On top of that, she also had a darker side, and she and Opa became the only two of Harry's friends, or in the case of Opa, acquaintance, that he could trust with his interests in the Dark Arts.

He had not spent very much time studying the books he had bought over the holidays. When he had been at the Weasley's he had decided not even to risk reading them in such a small and crowded house, for it seemed just to be testing his already tenuous luck. He would have used the charm that the twins had put on their pranking books, but he had neither the incantation nor the allowance to do magic during the summer, so he'd contented himself to hiding them the old fashioned way. Instead he had concentrated on the Lucky Charms book that Ginny had given him, and the book he had bought in 'Sprite's Robes'.

Now that he was back at school he seemed to have no time at all, as if the days had spontaneously shortened with his return. It had not taken him long to get back into the swing of things, but almost all his study periods were taken up with either research and homework.

Potions was as difficult as ever, but following Harry's good OWL grades, Snape seemed even more determined to get him removed from his class, be it by poor marks or a potions accident. The standard at which they were required to perform was difficult, but for the first time in his life, Harry had a feeling that he might be able to enjoy the class, if only he could put his finger on _how_.

Oddly enough, help in that sector came from someone completely unexpected. Everyone Harry had met had been monumentally unhelpful; Ginny and Opa had got into a fierce debate over Snape's teaching, Ron and Hermione were impossible to talk to without them reverting to their arguments, and Helga was outraged at the Potions Master's biased treatment.

It was one day when he was emerging from his double Potions lesson fuming, having not only missed breakfast in order to get to it in time (why were the classes always double and first thing in the mornings?) but lost twenty five points from Gryffindor personally for his lateness and botched experiment.

He had bashed into someone standing directly outside, sending her reeling a little. However, she seemed completely unfazed by the occurrence. It was only then that Harry realised he had knocked into the dreamy and distant Luna Lovegood. He hadn't spoken to her much before but he knew that she was in Ginny's year, and he rather liked her complete apathy towards everything.

"What's the matter Harry? You look flustered." She had asked, staring at something over his shoulder. Harry tried his best to look composed.

"It's just Snape being a bastard as usual." He'd replied. She'd turned to him then, looking mildly surprised.

"You shouldn't worry about him Harry. It's only because he's angry with the recent shortage in the powdered tooth of the Blibbering Humdinger." She'd told him before drifting serenely past.

Harry had simply stared after her, wondering how anyone could be so distant from everything happening around her. It was only later, when he was sitting in the common room and staring at the light rain that dotted the window that he really thought about what she'd said.

Or rather, not what she'd said, but her whole attitude. There was no doubt in his mind that she was living on an entirely different plain to everyone else, but her attitude towards the man _worked_. The more he thought about it, the more he admired her. She was completely batty, but nothing bothered her like other people. She could drift in and out of a Potions lesson in the same mood she'd gone in.

And the more he thought about it, the more Harry had to agree with her. Whatever made Snape so insufferably angry towards him and the Gryffindors didn't matter. It may as well _have_ been a deficit in the powdered tooth of the Blibbering Humdinger for all that would help Harry. The man was bitter, sarcastic and unpleasant, but it need not intimidate him, and it needn't worry him. After all, he was only in the class for the knowledge, and as long as he got that, it really didn't matter how many points they lost. They were just points after all.

With a start, Harry had realised that that was the problem with everyone else and their opinions on the matter. They couldn't help him with Snape's provocation because just like him they weren't looking at the bigger picture. Each and every one of them was tied up, at least partially, in the system of points and competition – even Hermione, who at times could be so objective and rational.

It was then that Harry had had an epiphany about the grumpy Potions Master. No doubt that most of it was vindictive and mean, but in some deep part of his brain the man was trying to give them an idea of what they would have to face for the rest of their lives. The world wasn't nice or fair. Everywhere they went they would face people like Snape; people who were difficult and prejudiced but, hopefully, after seven years of him as a teacher they would know how to deal with such people when they cropped up.

Harry had slept with a smile on his face that night.

Mind Arts was becoming increasingly fascinating. With the construction of a visual representation of their mind they could implement a whole range of aggressive and defensive ideas. Since they were all operating on purely mental grounds now, the effects of their defences would have to operate on the mind. If they wanted to confuse their attacker and cause them pain, then they would have to do that mentally.

Professor Mercury had been very pleased with Harry's first attempt with his barrier, although he didn't show it to anyone but Harry. Not only had Harry already had a barrier in place, which was strong and durable, but he also had created a sharp shock that would push those not expecting it out of his mind. The addition of parseltongue magic into his mind had particularly impressed him, although Harry hadn't told him that it was parseltongue. He wanted to keep a few secrets to himself.

He had learnt that as long as he didn't use parseltongue anywhere near students, then the main student body would think that he hadn't touched the language since his second year. Harry did his best to maintain this by talking about how dark it was, and how he wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole now he knew he could speak it. This earned him a few caustic comments from Snape about the misuse of his one good talent, but Harry was glad he had hidden his use. Anything that his enemy didn't know about him was an advantage, and if Voldemort thought that he could use parseltongue magic against him then he was in for a nasty surprise.

As a result of his rigorous exercises in the Mind Arts (he wasn't about to complain about the lack of essay writing) his dreams became far more focused. What frustrated him was that his dream catcher seemed oblivious to them. He knew that it worked, because it had caught a few of his other dreams, but the recurring ones just swept past it. They were the same as ever, only now he found himself trying to slip though the rocks as he could do in his head. The first time he had pushed his hands into the stone he had woken with a patina of frozen beads of sweat on his forehead as another chill swept through the room.

Nobody seemed to notice the rush and time-slow before each chill, but Harry was reluctant to bring it up with anyone, because he had never had good experiences with things that only he heard or felt. If they were lucky, then there would only be one in the day and one in the evening. He had transfigured himself a few blankets after the first few days, casting the most powerful and long lasting warming charms he knew on them.

This meant that he would spend the first half of the night sweating and burning in the heat, wishing desperately for cold air, and the second half shivering under the blankets that just wouldn't heat up. On the nights that he dreamt it was particularly bad because he tended to wake up ruffled and disoriented very early. He would generally cast a few warming charms on himself and the bed before calling up one of the house elves for a cup of hot chocolate or coffee. They didn't seem to mind, and he was assured repeatedly by them that they were up all night anyway.

There had been a few times when he had padded downstairs and met Ginny. It seemed that she was having trouble sleeping as well. The cold, she said, reminded her too much of waking up on the damp stone floor of the Chamber of Secrets. Harry couldn't help but agree.

So far no one but Ginny and Opa knew of his dreams, and he was more than happy to keep it that way. However, he knew that before long they would catch him up far earlier than he usually woke and get suspicious, and he'd have to explain to Ron or Hermione about them. He also knew that when the Christmas holidays passed, he would be starting basic Leglimency in the Mind Arts. He doubted that many of his secrets would stay a secret for long.

That thought bothered him, but he was unsure why. He didn't have many things that would be terrible for people to find out, not even Helga's rooms, because she could easily deny them entry. Perhaps, as Opa had suggested to him one day when they were talking this over, it was because you had so many huge secrets that they were diminished in comparison to each other. Harry guessed that she was probably right.

Opa was an odd girl. She was quick and sharp, but because of the spectre blood in her, she appeared distant and dreamy. It was an odd mix, but one that Harry was growing fond of. She could be quite blunt when she chose, but one day when he had arrived in the library earlier than Ginny they had had a talk that had broadened his opinion of her.

As it turned out, Opa was taking the Mind Arts class because of her family's status as secret keepers. The spectre blood and the binding ritual at her birth could easily keep her from telling people secrets, but the protection it extended over her mind was not quite so thorough. She knew that Mercury was bound under an oath to keep him from prying unnecessarily, but the repercussions of someone finding out about any of their family secrets were dire. She had frowned at him in worry before he reassured her, flickering in and out of notice in such a way that made Harry feel quite dizzy.

Besides all of that, there was the trouble of his other classes. They were certainly more interesting. Defence Against The Dark Arts was something his excelled in naturally, but their new teacher was a stern taskmaster who Harry was sure could rival McGonagall. Professor Weatherby had already dealt him two detentions for missed work, and Harry made sure he had time to do it nowadays.

Harry found the majority of his lessons more dull than the previous year, but that was almost exclusively because his mind was drawn away from every other subject the moment McGonagall had mentioned the topic of Animagus Transformations in their Transfiguration class. Ever since Sirius had told him about the way his father and their friends had become illegal Animagi Harry had been hooked. He could think of nothing more exciting or wondrous than being able to change into an animal at will.

For years Harry had assumed that one had a choice about what animal they became, but it turned out that it was predetermined by their personality. Harry supposed that was why far fewer people were Animagi than he'd expected. No one wanted to become a snail or a krill without foreknowledge. Harry though, had a strong feeling that he probably wouldn't end up as a minuscule insect or sea creature. At least, he hoped so.

He made a mental note to speak to Sirius and Remus as soon as humanly possible. McGonagall had informed them all that anyone attempting to become an Animagus would have to wait until they were of age, unless they wanted to suffer severe punishment. For Harry though, that only sweetened the idea.

---

It was a few weeks after he had first found Helga's portrait, and a Friday evening. Harry was looking forwards to the weekend very much. During the week he had made good progress with the greenhouse-in-a-trunk, as he called it, and was now a little more familiar with the tools and the protective gear, not to mention the plants.

Helga had assured him that it was only the most distant table that he had to watch out for. That was the one that contained the potentially lethal plants. She had made him promise not to even attempt to touch those until she told him that he could, and Harry was surprised that she thought him that foolhardy. He may enjoy the work, but he was in no hurry to be killed.

He was about three-quarters of the way through the first table by now, and he learnt a great deal more about rare plants and their handling than he ever had before. It was not that Pomona Sprout was a bad teacher per se, it was simply that Helga was calm and focused where she was flustered and inattentive. Harry knew that this was mostly because she had taught a class of twenty unruly students, but under Helga's careful eye he found himself enjoying the subject far more.

Not only that, but Helga had spent many hours of her time invested in creating and discovering the best tools and methods, and knew all of them very well. The plants in the greenhouse-in-a-trunk were rarer varieties than the ones in the common greenhouses. The snapdragons for example, were a common wizarding plant, but she had spent a decade selecting a particular strain of them, dedicating time and attention to their care.

As a result, the plants knew her quite well. She had explained to Harry that just because they were plants, didn't mean that they weren't as sentient as a mouse. In fact, a few of them had a few more advanced responses than that. They had curled lovingly around her portrait, threading around it but never working their tendrils into the cracks or accidentally destroying it.

Harry was assured after the twenty-third bite on his forearm that once they got used to him they would calm down and let him tend them with less of a fuss. He was a little sceptical about this, but shrugged and agreed anyway. He would simply wait and see.

Helga certainly seemed to think that one of the plants had become rather attached to him, and Harry had to agree with her, although in a more physical sense, as it had taken to wrapping its long leaves around him and rustling whenever he came near him. He made protests about it, but inwardly he found it rather endearing.

Harry had returned to the Gryffindor common room after a few hours of Helga's company, making sure that he always had a viable excuse to use in case one of his housemates noticed his absence. Helga intrigued him. He had spent most of the first few visits simply filling in her gaps about wizarding history. She had gleaned most of it from the portraits, but she had tended to stick to the ones that she knew already, which were few in numbers. Besides, she was lying low in case Dumbledore spotted her.

In the end, Harry had come up with a rather bright idea to allow her to read up one what was happening during the long days when she had little to do. He had set up a stand in front of her portrait that was close enough for her to read, and placed a book of her choice on it. With a little help and a few singed pages, he had managed to devise and cast a spell that would turn the page in reaction to a sound.

It began quite crudely, and Helga had told him that she had a few modifications for him to add. The original spell had reacted to any noise of a certain volume, and would only turn the pages in one direction. After the third modification, it would only activate to the words 'forwards' and 'backwards' and after one last one, it was able to flip to certain chapters of page numbers.

In this way, Helga was able to acquaint herself with what had happened over the last twenty years, and in the end she had an even better knowledge of it than Harry did. She had thanked him profusely the first time he had suggested it as, she explained, being a portrait was an awfully dull thing when there was nothing to do or read. Unless someone painted a picture of a library, most of the people in the portraits had nothing to read or do.

"That is why most of them are so frustratingly eager to talk about anything and everything to anyone who'll listen." She'd told him with a mixture of irritation, fondness and amusement on her face.

Harry had filed that information away for future use. There were times when having the portraits of the castle enamoured of him may be a good thing. Ron and Hermione had given him particularly odd looks the first few times he had spoken to portraits that he passed.

The Fat Lady had become particularly fond of him after he had taken half an hour of his time to stand outside the common room chatting to her, and for awhile she had stopped asking him for a password and simply swung open for him. Until, that was, Harry pointed out to her very kindly that anyone who had a lock of his hair could make a Polyjuice potion and get in. He promised her that if he ever came across a spell that would identify him, he'd tell her about it. She'd just replied with a big wink.

The rest of the portraits on his general routes about the castle came to know him quite well. He'd spent a few evenings with nothing but a quick word to Helga and a replacement of her current book as he walked around the hallways talking and listening to the portraits. He'd become quite a favourite of several of them, and they called out greetings to him in the hallways until he'd told them, again very politely, that people were giving him funny looks.

He was rewarded for his efforts on one of the days that he was sneaking back from Helga's rooms having forgotten his invisibility cloak. A thin, flustered looking wizard on a horse had galloped through the paintings to warn him that Snape was patrolling a corridor away, and that he should duck into the small, secluded alcove behind him, because for some reason the man never looked there.

Harry had done as he was told, and sure enough the Potions Professor had rounded the corner in a dramatic swish of robes, striding silently down the hall. Not for the first time, Harry wondered how the man managed to glide so silently. As soon as he had left, he had stepped out and thanked the wizard profusely, making the man blush with the praise and tell him that he really must go and return the horse he'd borrowed.

Awhile later, another portrait had informed him rather eagerly that the tapestry behind him hid a secret hiding place that only appeared if you peered behind it three times in a row. Harry had tried, lifting the tapestry, looking behind, dropping it and repeating the whole process, and sure enough a dark hiding hole appeared.

Climbing in, he found that it was not quite high enough to stand in, but he could sit inside it with ease. He was very proud of this find, particularly as the portly witch who'd informed him of it told him that when he was inside, not only would no one else be able to enter, but Harry would be able to see anyone who peered behind it, while they would only see a stone wall. When Harry had asked her how she knew of it, she blushed and informed him that she had created it by accident when she had attended the castle. Harry had left her with a multitude of thanks and headed back to his common room after that.

---


	10. The Bargain

---

**Chapter Ten: The Bargain**

---

It had taken some time to wait for a private moment in the hectic and busy time, but Helga had told him to leave early and pay attention to his friends. Ginny had a detention with Snape, which meant that she wouldn't be around until later, and most probably would go straight to bed. Three hours of scrubbing cauldrons did that to a person.

Ron and Hermione were both out of the question as well. As was becoming usual, Harry and Ginny had placated one after another as they came from their morning, afternoon and evening arguments. Now they were both quietly sulking. Ron had gone upstairs and promptly fallen asleep, and Hermione had her nose in a book, quickly fending him off with a few spiky comments. In fact, this suited Harry rather well, because after another evening of pruning plants and talking to a singularly chatty portrait he'd found (Helga had informed him that the bespectacled man had a lot to offer, if only he could get past the chatter), all Harry wanted to do was sit and think.

Or, as it worked out, write a letter. Harry had come to appreciate letter writing over the years as one of the things that calmed him. There was just something about the quiet flow of ink from his quill and the words appearing on the page that made him forget everything that was going on around him. It also gave him time to accurately formulate his thoughts, unlike in speech.

He reached for his trunk, undoing the enchantments and lifting the lid. He rummaged around for a few moments before drawing out a quill and parchment. While he re-applied the wards and enchantments over the large box, he mused that as soon as the next Hogsmeade weekend came around, he would find a shop that sold well-protected trunks.

The thing he liked about Hogsmeade was that if he wandered off the main road (which he had been prone to stick to up until the previous year), he encountered a whole range of small, specialist shops. If he wanted to buy a good quality and unique travelling trunk, then that would be his best bet. Of course, he thought, he could wait until the Christmas break and he and Ginny visited the other wizarding places she'd mentioned. But that was an internal debate for another day.

Lifting a book up to rest on, he laid the parchment across it and began to write. It took him quite awhile to compose the letter as he wanted it, but once he'd finished it he read it over and felt quite satisfied, idly noting that his handwriting was gradually getting neater over the years.

'_Dear Snuffles,_

_I know you haven't heard from me for awhile, but I've been busier than I've ever been. I've information that would make the Marauders green with envy, but I can't tell you until I convince her I'm allowed to. She seemed quite resistant to it, so I'll have to work on that (and no, I'm not dating anyone, so get your head out of the gutter)._

_My lessons are fascinating, although I'm still stuck with Snape in Potions, but after this many years he's stopped bothering me all together. It just doesn't make sense to get angry with him just because he's a grumpy old git. I suspect he simply can't help it – can you even imagine him smiling?_

_In Transfiguration we've started learning about Animagus Transformation. Now, I know you can probably guess what I'm going to ask you, but you did promise that you'd show me when I was ready, and believe me, there's nothing I'd want more in the world than to become an Animagus. You could make it my Christmas present for the next three years perhaps? Do you think Remus would want to help? It's difficult for me to tell, because he pays attention to rules more than you do._

_I hope you're enjoying yourself in whatever tropical country you've vacated to. I expect to see you with a sun tan and new clothes when we next meet. Talking about that, are you around over Christmas break, because Ginny and I are going to visit a whole load of wizarding places that I didn't even know existed before this year. You know we'd love to bring our ever-faithful black dog along too._

_Love,_

Harry' 

Harry reread it for the second time, corrected a small mistake and folded it in half, magically sealing it. He tucked it into the book he had been leaning on and placed the volume back into a drawer of his bedside table. He would write a similar note to Remus tomorrow, but as of now he was far too tired.

He walked sleepily into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and headed back to bed, casting a quick fold-me spell on his clothes. He was very happy with Molly Weasley's book on household charms. They had included several that he'd already used, such as the packing charm and the fold-me charm. There were many more along those lines, but Harry hardly needed to iron out the wrinkles in his robes when they were made of smoke. Although the label assured him that they were compatible with regular household charms, Harry wasn't going to push his luck.

His last thought before sleep overtook him was a muddled musing about whether his Cloak of Smoke would burn if he ironed it for too long.

---

Darkness surrounded him, creeping over his skin and whispering in his ears. This wasn't an oppressive type of darkness, no, not at all. Harry drifted through it, stumbling over the slightly rocky floor, ducking a little to miss catching his head on the sloped ceiling. He moved forwards, reached forwards, was pulled forwards. He was gliding on unhindered, pulled by that lovely voice, calling him like siren song, so soft and alluring.

He stumbled a little, putting out a hand to steady himself and encountered rock. Cool, unyielding stone. Yet he knew that he could pass through it, why he was sure that he had done it before. Pushing, he felt his hand sink into the stone, then his arm, and finally his body.

There was a moment of stillness as he found himself entirely surrounded by stone, and he wondered distantly what it would be like to be stuck there. Then his fingertips broke free of the other side, and he oozed out of the cave-in as slowly as he had entered.

The other side was darkness, but he knew that a long winding tunnel stretched away before him. The cold and drip of water was stronger here, pushing his senses.

"_Come…"_

Harry blinked. There was a moment of wild disorientation as he struggled to work out the perspective around him. He fell, or at least he assumed that he was falling, because he still felt unsure of how the force of gravity was working today. It was only when his knees hit the floor with a soft thump and dull sting of pain that he realised that he had been standing. Surely he should be in his bed? Where was he?

Looking around he wondered momentarily if he was still in the cave – it was so dark. But the floor was even, and the sensitive pads of his toes could feel smooth stone. With a start he realised that his arm was outstretched, reaching for something. Moving forwards his fingers touched cool metal. A doorknob.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief before realising that he was really quite cold. He had taken to wearing pyjamas since the deep chills had started, but he had obviously thrown off the top in the night due to all the warming charms he'd placed around the bed. He stood slowly, peering around. Behind him was the comforting shape of a window. It looked as if he was still in the boy's dormitory, and thank Merlin for small mercies. He didn't like to think of how he was supposed to explain to Filch or Snape that he had been sleepwalking in the corridors.

With a shudder he began to walk back to his bed. However, luck seemed against him, and time seemed to slow as the prequel to the deep chills came on. Harry tried to drag himself forwards, urging his mind to snap out of the gentle trance it always fell into.

The roaring and rush that sounded like water was building again, and Harry stumbled as he reached his bed, pulling the covers back so that he could slip into it. He had just got his feet off of the cold stone floor when the noise stopped, and the chill came upon him. This cold seemed deeper and harsher than ever before, but Harry mused that it was probably because he had already been out of bed and had become chilled. He fumbled for his wand with numb fingers.

He was about to strengthen the warming charms when he had a thought. Instead, he cast a detection charm, and was alarmed to find that his previous spells were glimmering and fading out of existence. He waited a few more moments for them to completely disappear, his teeth chattering all the while before casting fresh ones.

To his utmost dismay these too began to fade, although at a much slower rate. Harry watched with dawning horror as they slowed and stilled, leaving the charms at half their normal power. Something was certainly wrong, and Harry was going to get to the bottom of it.

With a flick of his wand he had drawn the curtains around his bed shut and cast an unseen light charm that would prevent the other occupants of the room from waking when he cast _lumos_. He cast a silencing charm to cover any noise he might make, before turning to his trunk and removing all the books that he thought might mention the absorption of magic. With that done, he turned to the introduction in his Charms textbook. It seemed the likeliest place for that sort of information to be. He was in luck, for on the second page was the sort of thing he was looking for:

"Magic, in a similar fashion to chemical reactions, expel heat as the spells break down, and cause a cool when magic is absorbed from nearby surroundings."

Harry growled in frustration as he scanned the paragraph for anything more. He needed more information than that. He slammed the book shut with a snap, grateful for his silencing spells, before turning to the next. It took him roughly ten minutes to find the next mention of it, and he nearly missed the paragraph as he turned the page. With a soft sigh he leant forwards and began to read:

"The expulsion of heat from the decay of spells is reasonably common, although the magnitude of the temperature change depends on the strength of the spell. A lowering of surrounding temperature is less common, and impossible in humans as the magic is drawn from the central core of the body, which is adapted to the change. A few magical creatures and plants are known to have a place in this reaction, such as the Strangler Fig. Objects can also be charmed to absorb magical energy."

Harry stared blankly at the page. The next paragraph went on to discuss how the theory applied to transfiguration, which he didn't really need to know. The paragraph had only told him what he already knew to be the case, and Harry was beyond frustrated. There wasn't a chance of him visiting the library to look through books this late at night, particularly when sleep still clung to him like a second skin and he had woken up to find himself sleepwalking. No, that sort of exploration would have to wait until the morning.

With a sigh he packed his textbooks away and pulled his quill and parchment towards him. There was no better time than now to write to Remus, and it wasn't as if he was going to get any more sleep tonight with such a puzzle haunting him.

---

It was five thirty in the morning when Harry stepped out of the Gryffindor common room and headed down towards the Great Hall. He called out quiet greetings to the paintings that were awake, politely apologising for waking those who had been asleep. He was nearing the hall when one of the paintings called out to him. It was hung beside an indented window with a heavy stone seat and Harry walked over, although he chose not to sit on the freezing stone. It was cold enough just standing there, and he rubbed his hands together in a futile attempt to warm them.

The painting was of a pale witch with mismatched eyes and shoulder-length black hair. She was depicted on a chaise lounge, and spent most of her days drinking coffee and smoking from the elegant hookah that stood beside her. Harry wondered vaguely when the picture had been painted, and what kind of narcotics had been legal then.

"I heard something that might interest you, little sprite." In keeping with the decadent painting, Harry had found the witch in it to be rather wicked too.

"What is it?" he asked, curious. It wasn't very often that paintings called him aside to tell him things. She raised a brow and peered either side of the painting before lowering her voice.

"It's about your search," she said with a wink. "There's a rumour going around the paintings that one of the four you're looking for had been seen in the dungeons a long time ago."

"Ravenclaw," Harry breathed, casting a suspicious glance around the hall.

"Oh yes. It's uncommon that we're moved around at all, and if we are it is more certainly not by the headmaster of the school." She smirked a little at this. "It's only a rumour, but I hear that the woman in the portrait was protesting quite loudly, or would have been were it not for the silencing charm. One of the paintings commented and was stunned. Which is certainly cause for interest." The woman took a long drag on the hookah and blew smoke out of her nostrils.

"The forgetful old girl only just remembered. She's in the dungeons, near the potions classroom." She looked at Harry with those odd eyes for a long moment. "I believe that she has a pet snake about her feet. Perhaps the memory of that one is a little better."

"Thank you so much," Harry replied with a half bow, and the woman winked at him before staring off over his shoulder.

"You look in a pleasant mood today Severus," she said, a wicked smile coming over her features. Harry twirled round to see the man standing directly behind him.

"What, may I ask, are you doing talking to a portrait at this time in the morning Mr Potter?" he asked silkily, causing Harry to twitch a little.

"She's pleasant company," he replied, proud that he had kept the quaver out of his voice.

"Of course," Snape said sarcastically. "It is a common occurrence for students, especially _Gryffindors_ to be talking to paintings at the late hour of six in the morning." Harry gulped. How long had he been standing there?

"Do lay off him Severus dear. He keeps me entertained." Snape glared a little at the portrait behind him.

"It's no use glaring at me. You should respect your elders," she said, her mouth curving into a small secretive smile.

"My deepest apologies if a _portrait_ doesn't come at the top of the list for my respect," he snapped, his glare sharpening. Harry decided that now would be a good time to start edging away, but Snape's hand clamped onto his shoulder without him even breaking eye contact with the portrait.

"You Potter, are not going anywhere," he said in a dangerous voice. "I am very curious as to what you would have to say to this woman. She is certain to have influenced you somehow..." Harry tried desperately to stop his anger surfacing on his face, praying that his features fall into an expressionless mask.

"Now, now. Is that any way to speak to your great, great, great aunt Agatha?" Harry winced a little for her sake after seeing Snape's expression. Surely she would know better than to goad him this way. But then again if it was true…Harry tried very hard to keep himself from saying 'Great, great, great aunt!?' in an incredulous voice.

He couldn't help his eyes from widening a little at this though. Snape must have noticed, because he pulled Harry away from the painting that obviously knew far too much about him. He would have to ask her about that.

"Be on your way Potter." He spat Harry's name with distaste. "Five points from Gryffindor for conversing with paintings."

"You're too cruel Severus." Agatha teased before turning to Harry. "Remember what I said, and come see me soon, little sprite. I'll be waiting with all of Severus's dirty little secrets."

Harry had to cover a snort of amusement as he turned away from Snape's murderous expression. He didn't waste any time in sprinting to the Great Hall. He was not idiot enough to hang around after that. It seemed that talking to portraits had its own quirky benefits. There was no way he wouldn't return to the woman with his invisibility cloak, but perhaps he'd take the Marauder's map with him next time, and exercise a little more caution.

The Great Hall was empty but for two other students that sat at the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables. Harry wasted no time in calling up a house elf and asking for some toast, jam and coffee, as the tables weren't set yet. The pale blue light of early morning streamed through the windows, casting patches of sunlight onto the empty tables.

He perused a copy of the Daily Prophet that had been left on the table, frowning at the small article mentioning the mysterious Chills at Hogwarts, and several ludicrous speculations on their causes, one of which contemplated the idea of Dumbledore housing an Ice Giant in the dungeons. Harry snorted at that. He wasn't sure if he should be worried or amused that it wasn't such a difficult stretch of the imagination to imagine the eccentric headmaster keeping a creature like that on the grounds.

He was half way through his breakfast when he was surprised to feel a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself even more surprised to see Draco Malfoy standing behind him. Swallowing his mouthful of food he shifted so that he could better see him.

"Yes?"

"Potter," Draco said formally, with as little malice in his voice as Harry had ever heard from him. Harry blinked, and the other boy took a deep breath. "I've come to apologise for my thoughtless remarks to you and the Weaslette on the train."

For a moment Harry just stared at him. His expression and pale eyes gave nothing away, but Harry was sure that he had an ulterior motive.

"What's the joke?" he asked dully.

"There isn't one," Draco said with a sigh, before moving gracefully into the seat beside him. "I mean what I said, both now and then. I really am curious about your fight with a Basilisk."

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. His expression had changed slightly, softened and opened as if he were relaxed and telling the truth, but Harry was unsure. His Slytherin side was screaming several things at him: the first being that Draco was almost definitely lying, or if he wasn't then he definitely had some dubious motive. The second thing was that Harry would be a fool to let the opportunity to get something out of the blonde to pass him by. The third was that if he told him, he would be tempting Fate by putting himself in a dangerous position. Absorbing all of these things, he turned back and picked up his coffee, taking a long sip and acting nonchalant. Two could play this game.

"You'll need to tempt me a little more than that Malfoy," he replied, and could see the other boy's eyes widen slightly in his peripheral vision.

"I suppose I'll just ask the Weasel then," Draco said dryly. Harry was distantly surprised that he managed to keep his anger in check so well at the comment, but rather pleased with himself for not exploding nonetheless.

"Oh, yes, please do. You bruise such a nice colour." Harry said, still sipping his coffee and ignoring Draco. "Besides, he wasn't there up close and personal," he proffered, tightening his offer that little bit more. He was curious to see how far the other boy would go for information, and what he could possibly offer him in return.

"How Slytherin of you," the other boy remarked, his voice still neutral. Harry thought he detected a little surprise in there as well.

"Much more than you know," Harry replied shortly, turning his startling green eyes on the blonde. "Well then, cold-blood, what's your bait for me?" Harry drawled, using a name he and Ginny had laughed about for him. Draco's lips curved into a predatory smile. This was an area he knew how to deal with.

"As I've said before, the Malfoy family has a lot to offer."

Harry had to let a little smile cross his face. He'd fooled, persuaded and bargained his way for food, clothes and shelter for most of his life. Did this boy think he was inept enough to demand something as trivial as a few galleons of the Malfoy fortune?

Just then, his mind flicked back to his and Ginny's visit to Borgin and Burkes. He remembered that silver cane that had rested in the corner, and Borgin's description of it. A brother cane, hmm? Well, there was no better time to find out about its twin.

"Yes, I'm sure it does. Very impressive. Much like your father's cane hmm?" Harry smirked inwardly at Draco's surprised reaction.

"I'm afraid that's a little out of you reach Potter." His tone had turned cold, Harry noted.

"I'm simply asking for knowledge _Draco_, just like you." Harry stressed the other boy's first name. Draco almost visibly relaxed at this. Harry wondered what could possibly be so interesting about that cane.

"What particular knowledge?" The other boy asked warily. Harry was sure that he was going to be more careful with Harry from know on, but at least he was agreeing to it.

"An all round version, just like you're going to ask for. With one particular, which you are probably going to ask for too." Harry drawled. He was rather glad that no one was really around to witness this bargain of theirs, or at least overhear it. He watched Draco hesitate before resolution set into his eyes.

"A deal then. If broken it invokes a spell of the other person's choice. Within reason of course," he agreed, and moved his hand forwards for him to shake. Harry was struck with the sudden parody of his original offer on the train. No doubt that Draco was thinking the same thing, although it probably had far worse connotations for him. Harry shook it after a moment's pause, wondering if he was being even more foolhardy than usual. He was reminded of the phrase 'deal with the devil'.

"Deal." Draco nodded shortly.

"So Potter, you going to tell the tale or not?" He drawled. Harry's returning grin was a little feral.

"Well, that depends on several things. The first being that I could effectively not tell if for years, considering we didn't put a time frame any of this." Harry was glad he'd brought this up, since he was sure that Draco was thinking of saying the same thing to Harry when he had to cough up his end of the deal. This was confirmed by the flash of irritation that showed on the other boy's face.

"The time frame is within two days. Deal?" He extended his hand once more.

"Deal." Harry repeated. "The second is whether we want to be seen sitting and conversing civilly over breakfast. The third is whether I want my story spread around the whole school by lunchtime because of this," he finished and watched as Draco absorbed it all.

"You're surprisingly perceptive for a Gryffindor," the other boy stated carefully.

"One gets in practice now and then," Harry replied blandly.

"The second: it would be amusing to see the reactions. The third: we can simply set up silencing charms." Harry nodded. Those had been his thoughts exactly.

"It's always good to keep people on their toes. I'll try and keep Ron from hitting you if you follow through with your half of the deal. Otherwise, I'll add a few myself. And Reverse spells are my speciality."

"Brilliant. Begin," Draco said imperiously, gesturing to a house elf and ordering his tea and plate of food moved over to the Gryffindor table.

So Harry did. He told him of his travels down with Lockhart and Ron (although not where the entrance was, or how to open the doors), the collapse of the cave, how he found Ginny lying there, and how he met Tom Riddle.

"It may interest you to know that the Dark Lord is a half-blood," Harry put in casually, continuing despite Draco's outraged stare. "So, then he 'matched the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin against famous Harry Potter'. I quote there." Harry added dryly. "I did a lot of ducking and weaving with my eyes shut. Fawkes pecked out the Basilisk's eyes, and I pulled a sword out the hat, so to speak. From then on, I had great fun fleeing from my life from a monster that could no longer drop me with a gaze, but could still swallow me whole in the blink of an eye. Or rather, in the blink of an empty eye socket," Harry joked, and Draco rolled his eyes slightly at Harry's poor pun.

"I did several interesting weaves through the pillars before I finally managed to turn and jump aside, as the Basilisk put a rather nice dent in one of them. From then on I had a good time trying to slash its nostrils so that it couldn't smell me. I didn't even try and think about its ears because then I didn't know where a snake's ears are. It was one of the things I found out shortly after I left the Chamber. As it turns out I would have had difficulty rendering it deaf anyway. After that, I got in a nice, lucky strike, and the sword went straight through the roof of its mouth and into its brain. I'm beginning to think that the secret of my success is dumb luck," Harry said dryly, draining his cup of coffee.

"You're Fate's joke," Draco drawled. "Go on."

"What makes you think there's more?" Harry asked. He couldn't resist teasing the blonde.

"There is. Go on," Draco said forcefully.

"Well, the big old snake died, and I got an armful of basilisk tooth." Draco's eyes widened marginally.

"You're still alive," he stated. Harry snorted in response.

"Turns out I'm immune to Basilisk venom," Harry deadpanned. Draco blinked before scowling at him.

"Phoenix tears," Harry admitted finally, and this time Draco's mask really did drop, and he looked on Harry with something that was approaching awe.

"That honour is incredibly rare," he said softly.

"Yes. Anyway, my half of the deal is complete. You have your information," he said, turning to the other boy.

"How did Tom Riddle die?"

"That's not in the fine print, Malfoy," Harry told him flatly. He wanted to keep some things to himself. Draco sighed in irritation, but relented.

"Now for your half," Harry told him. Draco got to his feet and bowed mockingly to him.

"Two days, remember? I've got time."

"Just remember," Harry cautioned him, "I know enough about these deals to know that you owe me now. You can't escape wizard's law Malfoy."

"Of course not. See you on Tuesday morning." Harry growled in irritation as the other boy stalked off. He was going to make him wait the whole extent of the time limit! But then again, he was probably using it to buy him enough time to ask his father what he could and couldn't tell Harry.

"Hey Harry, was that Malfoy you were just talking to?" said an excitable voice. Harry turned to find Colin Creevey standing behind him and restrained a groan. It was going to be a long day.

---

**Notes:**

So, Harry enters into a bargain with his schoolyard nemesis. I feel that it's worth mentioning, as it may not be immediately apparent, but in these early chapters Harry is rather foolish and innocent, making decisions from a more childish point of view than he might otherwise. If some of his self-assurance and foolhardiness seem to be just that, it's because I'm trying to make him evolve gradually.

The Time Frame - Since some of you have been expressing concerns about this - I began this story around January, and posted the first chapter then. However, I realised that I probably wasn't organised enough to post each chapter as I wrote it and still pick up possible plot holes along the way. Things just change when I write them, and some stuff in earlier chapters would need to be edited, so I decided to leave off posting the story until I'd completed it, leaving the first chapter up here on I _haven't_ completed it yet, but with it levelling around 89 chapters I thought it would be safe enough to continue posting, and I have been since about late october every three to four days. I'll carry on until I run out of chapters or finish it. Hope that explains the starting date and what appears to be a pretty poor update record.

Thanks for the reviews and support,

Dream Red


	11. The Second Bargain

---

**Chapter Eleven: The Second Bargain**

---

For Harry it seemed that all interesting things were postponed until Tuesday. He'd spent the rest of his Sunday chatting with Ginny and Opa in the kitchens as they ate whipped cream and strawberries and went out on the Quidditch pitch batting a Quaffle between them.

At the end, Harry had come to dread Opa on a broom. She promised not to fade out of notice, but she was still someone that slipped the mind completely in the game. She told Harry and Ginny that she was to be joining the Slytherin team this year, which made them both wince, although Harry didn't have to worry about her, as Draco was still the Seeker.

Ginny pestered her repeatedly in an attempt to discover her position, but Opa simply smiled and remained silent. Eventually the two Gryffindors decided that she was probably a Chaser, as she would be of less use as a Beater.

As the evening came along, he dragged out his invisibility cloak and made his way up to visit Helga. He sat down with his usual coffee and began to talk, but she became quite worried when his drink froze over. Harry had to explain the deep chills to her, as she only had a faint idea that they were occurring.

"A powerful sapping of magic…hmm. Something like that happened in my day too, although nothing this drastic. It was around the time our portraits were taken down for safety. But we simply assumed that it was one of the enemies attacking, as there was a lot of feuding in turmoil in those times," she said thoughtfully.

"It could be though, couldn't it?" Harry insisted. "The books I've read say that it's possible for objects to absorb and store magic." Helga frowned down at him.

"Rowena would know better than I, but the problem with those objects is that the magical power becomes unusable. Although I suppose that if the primary and secondary wards fall then it would have served its purpose. But to have such an effect…" she trailed off, and Harry watched her contemplative face with interest.

"It would have to be inside the castle to have so much power," she pronounced. "Albus would be in a truly tenuous position to search for it too. There are no detection spells that branch over the whole castle, and a search would be too difficult. The object may well have protections on it."

Harry sighed. He'd had an inkling that it would be like this. He cast a warming charm on his coffee cup and drained the last of it before standing.

"Helga, can I look through your bookshelves?" he asked her, and moved over to them with her nod of assent.

They were certainly grand. She didn't have a massive collection of books, but there were definitely enough to entertain him for a very long time. He browsed over a large section on Herbology, then a section on Potions of a similar size. The books left were rather widespread over different topics.

"I'll have to apologise. I was rather single-minded when I collected my books. It's quite patchy in areas. You'd have better luck with Rowena's collection, as she became rather obsessive over covering all categories." There was a pause. "Talking of her, is there any progress?" Harry nodded absently as he flicked through a book on seeds and their uses.

"The sighting in the dungeon has been confirmed by a very…amusing picture on the way to the Great Hall," Harry said, trying to think of a good adjective for the woman.

"Oh, who?" Helga inquired.

"Agatha I think. Said she was Snape's great aunt, so I suppose that she's a Snape," Harry mused, still looking through the book in his hands. He looked up when he heard her tutting though.

"That woman is a liability. You won't learn anything good from her." Harry was surprised at Helga's tone, and saw that her mouth was pulled into a rigid line.

"That depends whether her information on Snape is good or not." Harry turned back to his book, choosing not to inquire. "If not, I can always _tell_ him that she told me things. I'll bluff my way through." Harry snickered at the thought of Snape's face if he said that. "It's always good to have an advantage over your enemies."

A hiss came from Helga's direction, and Harry's head snapped up. She was looking at him with wide eyes and a grim face.

"What was it?" he asked, concerned.

"What you said, 'to have an advantage over your enemies'. That was what Salazar said before he left. When he told us about the Chamber. I only know because they were in the room where our portraits were being hidden." Harry frowned.

"I didn't mean to…" He trailed off, unsure of what to say. Helga shuddered a little before pulling herself up to her full height.

"I know you didn't mean the same thing, or anything similar. In fact, from what you've told me in our conversations, Severus Snape deserves most of what he gets, if not all. It just reminded me, that's all," she finished with a half-smile.

Harry only nodded and went back to his reading. The more he heard of Salazar Slytherin, the more interesting the man became. He seemed to Harry to be the most mysterious Found out of them all.

---

Tuesday rolled round slowly. Harry woke as usual, around five in the morning, and after a freezing shower that even his warming charms refused to heat, he hurried down to the Great Hall. The light was dim today, and the weather ponderous and cloudy. To Harry, it looked as if rain was looming over the horizon. That didn't bode well for the Quidditch practice that was scheduled for the evening.

Ron had made the Quidditch team as Keeper the previous year, and this year the team had voted him in as captain due to his brilliant strategy working. Harry had been suggested as captain, but he had declined as politely as he could; he simply wasn't built to lead people. He'd taken the most solitary position in the entire game, and certainly hadn't been paying too much attention to things like Chaser strategies over the years.

This time there was only one figure in the hall when he arrived, and that was the silvery figure of Draco Malfoy, seated at the Slytherin table looking utterly composed and drinking his tea.

Harry paused at the threshold of the room before walking over at a leisurely pace. Initially he had been surprised to see the other boy so early, but of course, he had to arrive before the time limit ended and tell him the information, or he'd be subjected to a spell of Harry's choice.

"Malfoy," Harry greeted him, slipping onto the seat beside him and calling a house elf up for breakfast.

"Potter. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show after all." This new and civil Malfoy still rather surprised Harry. It made him feel slightly odd, thinking that he might actually have liked the boy whose hand he'd refused all those years ago. But then again, him having a father who served Harry's arch nemesis might have put a bit of wedge between their possible friendship. He could imagine that visiting over the holidays wouldn't have been the most relaxing experience, knowing that the blonde's father could likely be considering his death when they shared a dinner table.

"Gryffindor honour and all that," Harry said with a grin. Draco just looked disdainful.

"So really, you couldn't help yourself." Harry snickered a little at that, and began buttering his toast.

"How about we begin?" Harry asked pointedly.

"My father's cane has been in the family for generations, and is typically held by the Head of the House Malfoy." Harry nodded for him to continue. "You may not know, but I suppose I'll have to tell you anyway. Wizarding canes were used in place of a wand for a time, and thus, have a core. The difference with this cane is that it is topped with a semi-animate snake's head. It is said to have a brother, but that is more of a family myth."

Harry kept his expression carefully interested, while inside his head he smiled a little at Draco's skill in deception. He didn't lie, but he twisted his words to make it sound as if the brother cane was lost to the mists of time rather than sitting in the shadows at the back of the Borgin and Burkes shop.

"What's the core?" Harry asked with mild interest. Draco looked as if he had been hoping that he wouldn't answer that question.

"Snake skin and tooth," he said, but there was something in the way he said it that made Harry doubtful.

"Are we finished?" Draco drawled. Harry nodded, still thinking over what Malfoy had said. He had a suspicion about the core, but he was still so uncertain…

"Potter, if I might ask, why are you so interested in the cane?" Harry almost answered unconsciously, but despite that Draco had slipped the question in so very casually, Harry could see an opportunity.

"If you make it worth my while. I have one more question about its core, and you need to answer truthfully," Harry said. He could see the blonde weighing up his chances. If Harry guessed right, then Draco wouldn't consider it too big a risk.

"Deal." He extended his hand, but Harry had one more clause.

"If you can't answer it, then I want an answer from your father," Harry said, adding something of a dare to his voice. Once more he could see the other boy hesitating. Would it really be worth the risk?

"And if he can't answer?" Ah, Harry thought, stalling tactics.

"Then I'll drop it. But he is bound by the same truthfulness and spells that we are." Draco bit his lip, and Harry found himself surprised that such a nervous habit would be allowed to persist in the Malfoy family.

"Fine. But you have to give all the reasons for your interest that you can think of, and we state the spells that will come into effect if either of us cheat the deal now." Now it was Harry's turn to hesitate. He mentally ran through all the reasons that he wanted to know.

Well, he had become really quite taken with the twin cane in Borgin and Burkes. Any information about Malfoy's second weapon was useful. Plain curiosity played a factor too.

"Right, and the time limit is here and now, but a week if you don't know. Your father should have time to get here by then. My spell is _Perfigo_." Harry hissed the last word picturing a snake as best he could. It was one of the few spells he had discovered in the book on parseltongue magic that he could actually perform. It mimicked the feeling of a burning knife plunging into the assaulted body part. Draco quailed a little, but named a spell that Harry didn't recognise anyway.

"Done." Draco clasped his hand with Harry's, and Harry withdrew his wand, tapping their hands and muttering _Creo Pactio_. Their joined palms glowed for a brief moment before fading.

"You answer first, since you pulled that nasty trick on me," Draco ordered. Harry raised a brow.

"I solidified the bargain into more than a schoolboy pact Malfoy, but since I'm the one whose supposed to have the Gryffindor honour, I will. I want to know about your father's cane because, firstly I'm simply curious, and secondly It's worth knowing your enemy well, especially if they have a second weapon to fight with. It would do me no good if I was in a duel with your father and after disarming him of his first wand, found myself under the _Cruciatus_ curse from a weapon I'd barely considered." Draco inclined his head slightly in agreement, seemingly unconcerned about the idea that his father might be casting the Cruciatus on a classmate.

"And lastly, I encountered the brother cane over the holidays, and seriously considered purchasing it. However, the shop owner informed me that he didn't know what the core was, although it was painfully obvious he was lying. It was also obvious that your father would know, since he held its twin."

Draco looked at him with wide eyes. He obviously hadn't expected Harry to list the last reason, but Harry really hadn't wanted to be subjected to whatever Dark curse the blonde had chosen, and hadn't had enough time to think of a way to twist the truth.

"You can't ask what the core is of the brother cane. You said that your questions were purely directed towards this core." Harry nodded.

"Indeed. Now for my question Malfoy." Harry said with a small smirk playing about his lips. "Is the core of your father's cane of the same material of that of the brother cane? And I don't mean from the same 'snake'. I mean which part of the snake." Harry sneered at the word 'snake', and as he had hoped, Draco's eyes widened in a parody of realisation, and Harry's suspicions were confirmed.

He had guessed that the word 'snake' was a rather broad definition of what went into the cane. Harry had a sinking suspicion that he knew what kind of 'snake' the Malfoy family would put into the core of a cane. Or perhaps he was simply being fooled by all this talk of Basilisks…

"I don't know the answer to that," Draco said irritably, his face snapping back into its usual mask. He stood then, vacating his seat. "I will owl my father now, and he will be here by the weekend."

Harry watched him leave with an air of satisfaction. He had rather enjoyed the guessing games and bargaining with Malfoy, particularly as it was obvious to him that in the end, he had been the one to outsmart the blonde. He could only hope to achieve similar results with Lucius, but somehow he doubted he'd come off so well.

---

They had started a new topic in Potions: Brews to Deceive. This covered the Draught of Living Death – "I hope you show a little more knowledge than last time, Mr Potter." – which had a history of being used to fool people into thinking that the drinker was dead. Harry was reminded quite strongly of the play 'Romeo and Juliet' at this, and he had an interesting time imagining the sinister Potions Professor playing Juliet, while Malfoy serenaded him.

The topic also covered invisibility potions, potions that made the user silent as a grave (Harry suspected that Snape bathed in them regularly to stop errant students from hearing him as he prowled the corridors), potions that cancelled out the user's scent completely, and potions that dispelled notice.

Harry was interested to learn that one of the ingredients in the last one was spectre blood. Snape had informed them that because the ingredient was so rare in its untarnished form, they would not be brewing the potion. He did, however, mention that students who wished to take extra credit assignments could apply for the potion. Harry doubted that he'd be allowed to do it even if he did apply.

The lesson was rather uneventful; since Neville had left there had been a mysterious absence of explosions. The lesson did serve a useful purpose however.

Harry packed his bags as quickly as he could, stepping out of the classroom with all intentions to go to the library or the common room. He was stopped, however, by a 'psst' sound from the shadows. Curious, he waited until most of the students had filed past him and moved towards it.

"The woman with the hookah told me to remind you of what she said," a skeletal centaur painted in sepia colours told him. Harry leaned in close and looked around to make sure nobody took any notice of him.

"I'd completely forgotten, thanks. Which way is the painting?" he whispered.

"Down the hall, two turns left, in the shadows beside the crooked stonework" the centaur rasped at him. Harry thanked it again, and followed its directions.

Before long, he was standing in a narrow, gloomy corridor. Dim light was thrown from a tiny barred window near the ceiling. The corridor looked rather like a dead end to him, but sure enough when he looked closer there appeared a pattern of stones that looked as if they had been put together in some haste.

His gaze slowly pierced the shadows beside it, and a painting emerged. It was of a very pale and sickly young woman in a delicate green dress. Her eyes appeared glassy and she stared straight ahead. However, a soft hiss and the slick sound of scales against the satin of her dress drew Harry's attention to the creature he was really looking for.

"_I heard that you were a snake-speaker, little one. There were whispers around the castle of it…_" A silky black snake disengaged from the woman's ankle and moved towards him.

"_That is correct. But I was sure that snakes could not understand the human language,_" Harry replied.

"_Surely you do not think there is only one painting with a snake in it? No…we tend to go unnoticed. Even the Serpent King left us to ourselves._" Harry shuddered a little, remembering the sound of the Basilisk's voice emanating through the walls.

"_The Serpent King's master was foolish to pass you by. But I digress. Little snake, I need your help,"_ Harry told it, and watched as the creature preened in satisfaction.

"_What can I aid you with, master?_" Harry smiled a little at the deferential term. It translated rather roughly as 'master', but in parseltongue he knew it was more a gesture of respect than servitude.

"_Years ago, maybe twenty, the headmaster of the school came down to the dungeons carrying a portrait of one of the Founders,"_ he told it.

"_The dark haired one. She was shouting, but no noise came out. It was as if her voice had gone."_ Harry nodded.

"_Yes. Did you see where he took her? Did he say anything?_" Harry asked quickly.

"_He was moving quickly, heading-"_

"Mr Potter." Snape's soft voice cut through the snake's speech, causing Harry to twist and face the man, severely startled. It seemed that the Potions Master was making a habit of catching him. "How interesting to see you in the Dungeons, conversing with another portrait. In parseltongue no less."

Harry hissed an insult towards him in the language, causing the snake to respond with what could only be called a chuckle.

"I have a free period now sir," he stated. Snape just raised a brow.

"And you choose to spend it skulking in the dungeons. As I said, very interesting." Harry was on the verge of grinding out another insult, but the snake interrupted him.

"_Tell the dark one to leave. He is not helpful."_ Harry smiled inwardly. He could imagine Snape's face if he heard that in a language he could understand. The older man was instead looking at the portrait with some interest, while the snake cast a steady and unblinking gaze on him. Harry raised a brow at the snake.

"_I doubt he'd take very kindly to me telling him that."_

"What, might I ask, are you telling it Potter?" Snape had returned his attention to Harry, who blinked a little. He may not rise to the man's insults anymore, but it didn't mean he wasn't wary of him. He debated lying for a moment, but then decided that he may as well chance the truth.

"The snake told me to tell you to leave, and that you weren't being helpful." Harry swallowed a little at the narrowed black eyes boring into him. "And I told it that you probably wouldn't take very kindly to being told that."

"Your perceptive skills are astounding, Mr Potter. Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek." He took a step back and gestured down the hall. "I will escort you _away_ from the dungeons." Harry swallowed again.

"If you'd wait just a moment-"

"Out!" Snape snapped, and Harry turned a last glance to the snake.

"_You'll find her behind hidden walls…follow the corridor to the end."_ The snake hissed at him before he was swept out of the gloom.

When Snape finally left him (after docking another five points for impudence), Harry was glad to be out in the light instead of in the chilly darkness of the dungeons.

After checking his schedule and discovering that he had no lessons until lunch, Harry began walking up to the top of the school to have a brief talk with Helga. He was sure that since his second run-in with the man, Snape would be watching him ever more closely. It really was no wonder that the irritable Potions Professor was in Slytherin, given his mistrust for everyone and everything. He was probably building a conspiracy around Harry's actions at this very moment.

The elegant upper sector of the school was like a breath of fresh air. It was so remote and distant from everything else in the school, and even though it was a dim and cloudy day, at the height he was the air felt clear.

Helga was sleeping lightly in her portrait when he arrived, and he was loath to wake her, but it was necessary.

"Helga. Helga!" he shouted.

"Hmm? What? Oh, it's you Harry." She looked a little relieved, her hair a bit mussed from leaning against the chair she'd conjured.

"I can't stay for long, but I came to ask you a quick question." He took a breath. "I'm close to finding Rowena I think, but I was wondering how I'm going to hide her? We were lucky that you were in a pretty remote area, but in the Dungeons Snape wanders around like some overgrown bat. I think he makes clones of himself or something," Harry grumbled, still irritated that the Potions Master had interrupted him just when he was getting to the interesting bit in the conversation.

"That is a tricky thing. You said you had that map? What did you call it? Mulberry Map?"

"The Marauder's Map," Harry corrected.

"Well, use that. I don't think an invisibility cloak will work on a painting as large as hers is, but it's worth a try. She'd probably know best though. She was rather skilful with invisibility and cloaking spells if I remember correctly." Helga's eyes grew a little distant as she remembered. Suddenly her eyes sharpened and she looked at Harry carefully. "Don't you go talking to that awful Agatha Snape before you've found her either."

Harry had to laugh at that. He bade her goodbye after she had extracted a promise that he wouldn't. Tonight was going to be a long and tiring trek, he could already feel. He quickly made his way towards the senior sector library that was as yet unexplored to look up cloaking spells.

---

The library was every bit as elegant as its surroundings. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Helga had had a hand in the decoration, because the shelves and tables were of the same rosewood that was in her chambers. He was amused to note that as each section changed to a different topic, the corresponding decorative carvings did too.

Over the Herbology section were delicate wooden flowers and vines, around the Transfiguration section there were carvings of animals changing into goblets and teacups, and over the astronomy section there were tiny stars and suns decorating the shelves.

There were only a few other students working in this subsection of the library, and Harry walked unhindered through the shelves. The layout was similar to the main Library, with its maze-like twists and turns, each housing a hidden table or window seat. In the end, Harry emerged back into the more open section and went to examine the small notice beside the door.

'To all senior students,

As with the Main Library, you are required to register all the books that you take out. However many of these are more valuable tomes than those available to the whole school, and their continued good condition is paramount. Students found to have damaged or lost copies will suffer severe punishment. You are allowed the privilege of using this library subsection, and anyone found abusing it will be blocked entry.

Madame Pince'

Harry shook his head. Trust the stern librarian to put up a notice that bore a threat in it. He turned back to the room at large, and moved over to a likely looking shelf, trailing his fingertips along the worn wooden surface. Finally he settled on a heavy tome, found a remote corner, and sitting he began to read.

---

Night had settled on the castle. The students practising Quidditch had retired hours ago, and most of the building's occupants lay in their beds, their deep breaths brushing over the blankets piled around them. It was getting colder these days. A few people however, were not asleep. Harry Potter was one of them, and Severus Snape was another. At the moment, these two were at a standstill.

Harry cursed wildly inside his head when he examined the Marauder's Map, only to find that a certain unpleasant Professor was pacing the gloomy corridor he had planned to explore. Ten minutes later, when he had navigated through the dungeons, Harry found to his dismay that the man was still pacing, and was most probably simply waiting for him to show. He had hoped that he'd have moved on by the time he finally got down there.

Harry had had the foresight to cast a silencing charm on himself, which would completely muffle his footfalls. Otherwise, Snape would probably already have jumped on him and dragged him – invisible or not – to his office for a year's detention. As it was, Harry could only stand there in consternation. How was he meant to sneak past him now? He could always go back to the dorms, but disappointment rose in his chest when he thought about it. It felt too much like giving up, even though he knew that that was untrue. What he really needed was a distraction.

One of the few useful things Harry had learnt from his foray into the senior sector library at the top of the school earlier that day, was a distraction spell called an Echo charm. It reflected noise so that what appeared to be its source was actually the opposite direction. Harry was ever thankful for the fact that he'd glanced over this, and was inwardly praising himself.

"_Echo Recino,_" he whispered, and then tapped breathed harshly, lowering his wand to the floor so that the tap of his foot was amplified. In the distance at the far end of the corridor the sounds floated back. It was time to add fuel to the fire.

"Damn it Ron, don't step on my foot," he whispered.

That certainly got Snape's attention. His head snapped up and his dark eyes flashed with the momentary reflection of light before he paced quickly towards the noise.

Harry, estimating that he probably had about five minutes before Snape realised that he had been duped and returned to find him, trotted down the corridor, recalling the snake's words.

"Behind hidden walls…" he whispered. "Follow the corridor to the end…"

He passed the painting of the sleeping woman and the out of line bricks, reaching the cold stone at the end of the hall. He reached a hand out to trace over the bricks, noting that they were slightly mossy. What could the snake have meant? What did it see that Harry did not?

Snape's footfalls had receded into the distance, but Harry was still nervous and increasingly frustrated as he scoured the wall. There had to be some clue as to where the portrait was hidden.

"Behind hidden walls…what does it mean?" Harry muttered. He began looking for distinguishing stone, running his hands over the repeatedly or tapping them. Then he had a sudden burst of inspiration.

He was almost certain that this corridor was no where near the outside, yet it had a high window, that was certainly not tall, but was just the right size to slide a portrait through, if not for the bars. Taking a nervous glance behind him, and checking the Map, he saw that Snape had paused two corridors ahead, at the entrance to the Potions classroom.

Casting a simple levitation charm on himself, Harry floated up to the same level as the window, and taking a deep breath he pushed his arm through the illusion, praying that Dumbledore hadn't put any nasty hexes on it.

For a moment there was nothing, but then Harry's fingers encountered a wooden frame. Sliding them down, he could feel paint and canvas. With a deep breath, and a small prayer that he wouldn't be caught, he dragged the portrait forwards.

---

**Notes:**

As with before, I used the Latin Dictionary and Grammar Aid, which can be found at (http // archives . nd . edu / latgramm . htm) if you remove the spaces.

Echo Recino Translates as 'echo' 'resound/to cause to resound'

Creo Pactio 'to make/to create' 'bargain' 

Perfigo 'to pierce through/to stab'

Next chapter should be up in a few days. It looks like I'm falling into an update schedule of mondays and thursdays, so you should be able to expect chapters those days. Hope you're enjoying it and all that, and thanks for the kind reviews,

Dream Red


	12. Rowena Ravenclaw

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**Chapter Twelve: Rowena Ravenclaw**

---

The wooden frame slid from the hole with a crunch as it moved over years of accumulated dust and stone. Harry was relieved to hear a surprised gasp, although he almost wished that there had been no noise at all. What confounded him however, was the size of the portrait. It was small, barely bigger than his chest, and nowhere near as large as Helga's had been. From what the other woman had said, he had been expecting a full-length piece as tall as he was. Perhaps he had collected the wrong picture? No…it wasn't possible.

Harry lowered himself to the floor with a grimace. The dust and powdered stone that had rested on the picture falling with a light rattle onto the floor. There was no way that Snape, with his supernatural sense for truant students would miss that, and he hadn't extended his silencing charm to cover falling debris.

Pulling the portrait under the cloak, he trotted down the corridor as fast as he dared, nearly colliding with Snape as he went. The Potions Master had a scowl on his face, and Harry was glad that he'd ducked out of the man's way, for he reached out his hand to where he'd stood only a moment before and hissed.

"I _know_ you're here, Potter."

Only when he had put three corridors between himself and the malicious Professor did he stop and look at the portrait he was carrying. There was a moment when he peered into the darkness, and then the woman in it cast a '_lumos_' charm with her painted wand.

Harry gasped a little. It was only a painting of her shoulders up, but exquisite detail had gone into it. He was looking into the face of a delicate woman who appeared to be in her late thirties. There was in her face a frailty that he had never associated with Rowena Ravenclaw before. Tumbling locks of hair fell from her head, stopping around her ears. Her hair appeared such a deep brown that it was almost black, completely offsetting the elegant red robes that she wore.

"It's about time that someone found me." Her voice was light, but unlike her visage it presented a little strength; the kind that Harry associated with Hermione, and her power in knowledge.

"Helga told me to find you," Harry said with a smile. The woman widened her eyes a little.

"You found Helga?" she inquired politely, as if she hadn't just been carried out of her hiding place by a someone she'd never met.

"Yes. But we haven't heard hide or hair of Godric and Salazar yet," he whispered back, unconsciously forgetting the silencing charm around them.

"You will need to head back the way you've come to find my rooms I'm afraid." Harry gaped at her and she smiled a little.

"How…?"

"It's easy to guess what you were going to ask. Helga wouldn't have let you leave her without first taking her back to her own rooms."

"She let me in them actually," Harry mumbled, still a little thrown by her leap of logic.

Rowena looked at him pensively, and Harry just shook his head and began to retrace his steps. He shuffled his grip on the painting a little before withdrawing the Marauder's Map. It seemed that Snape was still pacing the corridor.

"Follow on to the patch of shadows over there," she indicated, pointing to a dark corner just a few paces from the turning that led to where he'd found her.

"Step into them and say 'Umbra'." Harry did as she commanded, and twitched in surprise as the shadows grew, and he found himself swept into the velvety darkness.

There was a moment of terror when all the reasons not to trust a portrait flooded through Harry's head before he was spat out the other side, landing heavily on a stone floor. He started suddenly as a torch to his left flared into life, illuminating a very small circular room, not a more than a meter wide in circumference.

"W-where do I hang you?" Harry stuttered out, pushing his panic back. A look behind him showed that the shadows had disappeared, and all that was left was a harsh stone wall. He was trapped in the tiny room and no one but Helga knew of his whereabouts. It wasn't exactly what he'd call reassuring.

"Don't worry. The wall is an illusion. See that slightly darker stone?" Harry nodded at her soothing voice when he spotted it. "Tap it with your wand and you'll be pulled out again." Harry couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

"Hang me on the nail in front of you," the witch commanded. Harry nodded agreeably, and when he had located the piece of metal, he lifted the portrait to it.

There was a shudder, and Rowena lifted her head, closing her eyes as a peaceful look came over her face. In the back of Harry's mind, there was a contented hum that he knew to be the castle. After a moment, she lowered her head and opened her eyes, which were a moody grey.

"It feels good to be back in place. It's been too long," she whispered before a serene smile came over her face. "If Helga trusted you to enter her rooms, then I too will allow you that privilege. _Candesco_."

She hummed the last word, and the torch flared, flickering and glowing brighter and brighter until Harry was unable to look at it. Taking a deep breath, he stepped towards it and experienced a similar sensation to when he moved through the rock barrier in his head but instead of it being cold, he was surrounded by a heady, warm glow. It was so unusual that he spent several moments with his eyes shut, simply _feeling_. So it was that when he finally opened his eyes he was completely unprepared for the sight before him. If he had thought Helga's rooms astounding, Rowena's simply blew him away.

He was standing in the middle of a bright, circular room with a tremendously high ceiling that stretched up to a glassy dome above, through which sunlight streamed despite it being the middle of the night outside. Looking up, he could see a balcony that ran all the way round a second floor. In front of him a spiral staircase lead down from this balcony and ended on the pale wooden floor. It was all Harry could do not to gape at the sight before him. It was probably the most stunning room he'd seen in his life. In the entire design was of simplistic beauty. Everything from the balustrades to the polished wood, to the slight tops of the shelves he could see on the second floor were crafted with such intimate detail and beauty.

"I take it that you're impressed?" came Rowena's amused voice from a portrait that hung just before the spiral stairs.

"I…I've never seen rooms this stunning in my life," Harry admitted. Rowena laughed a little at this.

"I must say, it's good to be back here." She looked around the rooms with an air of satisfaction. "As you can see, the ground floor remains rather empty. I've always liked it that way. It meant that when I wanted to work on an experiment I had a lot of space."

Harry nodded, peering around. The floor before him shimmered slightly where the light caught it, and Harry noticed a few burnt patches here and there that he had missed in his first impression. The walls were of a slightly darker wood, and those that ran in a gentle curve towards the stairs opposite had a few shelves stocked mainly with books.

"The second floor is my favourite. Go up and have a look," Rowena urged him. Harry obeyed with a vague nod, walking towards the staircase and running his hands reverently along the balustrades as he climbed. Rowena's voice floated from before him, changing position to ring out from above as she changed portraits.

"To your left is the library. To the right are a few sofas and a table. On the opposite side of the room at the far end of the library is an area for Potions making. Although if you plan on using them, I'd prefer that you'd ask me first."

"I wouldn't dream of touching anything in here without your permission," Harry replied honestly.

Helga's rooms had given the impression of friendly warmth, and put Harry at ease, making him feel more able to peruse her shelves and trunks. Rowena's room was stunning, and definitely radiated warmth, but they were far more elegant, and large enough to be used as an entire house. Harry got the feeling that she was a much more private person than Helga was, and would be even less pleased if he went poking around. He made a mental note to himself to restrain his curiosity.

Harry headed towards the library first. It wasn't even as large as the senior sector library, but it was certainly big enough to give Harry the impression that she was quite a bibliophile. He looked forward to a time when he might be able to show these rooms to Lupin. He'd have a field day looking through them.

The shelves were made of a darker wood than the floor and walls, and were arranged in clear rows rather than the winding corridors of the libraries that Harry was used to. This was an effect that Harry found he rather liked. There were no closed rooms in Rowena's living space, lending it an open and calm feel. This was particularly helped by the delicate glass domed roof that allowed light to filter through. This cleared away the residual memory of the dark dungeons that left Harry reminded of his times locked in the cupboard under the stairs.

There was a circular open area in between the bookshelves with a round table and a few chairs. On it rested a quill, ink and a pile of books. The ink had long dried up and faded, and there was a splatter of it on the desk as if she had been in a hurry when she'd left.

"Ah. That was just before we chose to take the portraits down." Harry spun round at the sound of her voice, noting that she was now sitting beside a gurgling stream on a picturesque woodland landscape, which hung from one of the shelf ends.

"Er…Helga didn't really explain why you took the portraits down," Harry said awkwardly. Rowena sighed and picked a bluebell that grew beside her, tucking it into the hem of her robes.

"There was a lot of turmoil at that time. I suspect that Helga didn't tell you because she doesn't know; I doubt that she talked about it to her portrait much. I, however, kept my portrait informed along with me on the basis that someone would have to know the truth at some point." Harry nodded in understanding. "Duke Knockturn and Sir Diagon were having a little argument around then. I told Felix time and time again that he shouldn't start debates that he couldn't finish, but he never listened. He and Diagon started fighting, and everyone else took that as a cue to settle their own disputes." She sighed and looked at Harry squarely. "Hogwarts was a nice big target for people, and we were having trouble with the wards at the time. We four decided that the risk of our rooms and our work being discovered was too great, and marking a room with a portrait is like putting a cross on the map. We took our portraits down, effectively sealing our rooms to the outside world."

"The problem with that is that our real selves died before we could be reinstated, and we remained for years hidden in a chamber, guarded by the castle itself. We could still visit other portraits remember, and we kept up with the times but it's never the same as moving around your own, and by the time we thought it was safe enough to move around, we'd become all but legend. We could look around our rooms, but since the main portrait wasn't connected to the nail, we had no way to affect them." Her expression darkened as she thought, and Harry got a small inkling of what a powerful witch she would have been were she alive.

"Then that meddlesome headmaster came along. Oh, I think he'd known about us for a long time. He told us that he'd take us out and put us up. By that time I was so desperate to be moved that I believed him, but Godric shouted at the man. He didn't take long to show his true colours and cast spells on us that stopped us from shifting from our frames." She glowered into the middle distance, and the flowers around her faded as the scenery changed from summer to autumn.

"I was the first to go. He cast a silencing charm on me, so even the portraits that saw us couldn't hear me shouting. Thankfully I had enough of a connection with the castle left to command it to lead him to somewhere near my rooms. At least there was a chance that if someone found me other than that awful man then I could be returned, which I was." She sent a grateful look to Harry who was thinking hard.

"Rowena? Why weren't there any more protections on you? Even on Helga there was only a simple locking charm for the door." Harry was a little alarmed when the delicate woman before him began grinning viciously.

"The castle might like the headmaster, but it wasn't about to let him place heavy wards on us. So he had to conceal us instead. He had a horrible time of it. Out of curiosity, where was Helga?" she asked.

"She was in an abandoned cupboard at the top of the school," Harry replied, thinking about what she'd said. It certainly made sense – he doubted that Dumbledore would have been so lax about protection if he'd had another option. He was rather lucky, because he'd never have been able to break the man's enchantments otherwise.

"Odd. A cupboard isn't nearly as deceptive as my hiding place was." She frowned thoughtfully. "What order did the portraits leave in?" she asked.

"You, then Godric, then Helga and Salazar."

"He did want Salazar," she murmured distantly, thoughtful. "I saw the way he looked at him. He was angry and hurried, and he kept staring at Salazar," she pronounced, and Harry inclined his head once more; it made sense.

"I think he probably assumed that Helga wasn't much of a threat. The tales about you four nowadays tend to play her as small, forgetful and motherly." Harry informed her. Rowena snorted.

"Salazar was right. The bastard. Don't tell me that the wizarding world has gone back into the Dark Ages and all muggleborns are dead too?" she asked bluntly. Harry grinned and shook his head.

"No, he was wrong on that account. Although you may be interested to learn that the threats about the Chamber of Secrets wasn't as mythical as they were thought to be," Harry told her, and spent the next ten minutes discussing his encounters with the Chamber and its location. Rowena was wildly angry.

"I agree with Helga. How could he? I knew he was growing eccentric in his old age, but aside from a few death threats nothing happened to provoke this," she asked, incredulous. Harry looked at her with a new admiration. She appeared so delicate and frail, but when she became angry it was as if a fire lit up inside her. She seemed far more mercurial than Helga.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," Harry said, breaking through her fuming. "Two things actually." Rowena nodded at him to go on. "Well, the first is pretty simple. How have you got sunlight streaming through the glass roof that shows the sky when we're in the dungeons and it's night-time? Is it like the ceiling of the Great Hall?"

"Exactly like it, although this ceiling changed to whatever I wanted it to." She demonstrated by transforming the weather outside the glass dome to a furious storm cloud. "It also reacts to strong emotions of the people in the room. If you have an argument in here then you'll see what I mean," she said with a wink.

"The second is about your portrait. Helga said it would be big," he asked, confused.

"She never had that good a memory for what things looked like, and she only saw it fleetingly before we were stowed in the safe room. There isn't much you can see in the dark, after all, even as a portrait, and our counterparts were in enough of a hurry not to bother with any long-lasting light spells. We didn't share our rooms or portraits with each other before either. We all had our own secrets. I even devised spells that worked with the occupant of the portrait to keep out unwanted visitors." Harry nodded in understanding.

"What about the entrance to your rooms?" Harry hesitated, thinking back to the terror of falling through shadows only to appear in a tiny circular room. Rowena laughed.

"I decided that just hanging the portrait on a wall wasn't good enough. Salazar was always in the dungeons casting spells and experimenting with prisoners and trespassers. He'd have stumbled on it at some point, and I know that the irritable man would have found a way into my rooms." Harry grinned at her. "What are Helga's protections like?" she asked.

"Just her portrait hanging on the wall," Harry replied blandly. "Why?" Rowena smirked.

"What's the point of making a set of secret rooms if you don't have some nice protections? Even if someone sees you disappear into the shadows _and_ overhears the password, they won't know the second one, which I might add, doesn't work unless I say it." Harry had to admire her planning.

"What do the passwords mean anyway?" he queried.

"The first roughly translates as shadow, and the second as glow," she replied. "Now, tell me your name, and you can have a look at the rest of the rooms," she ordered him.

Harry didn't have to be told twice. "Harry Potter," he said distractedly. Standing from the seat he had assumed, he walked on until he reached the area she had described for Potions. Snape, Harry thought, would be in heaven here. It was too bad that the man had a chronic grudge against him, although he'd likely never have shown the rooms to the man anyway. There was something terribly satisfying about having untold treasures at his fingertips when the bitter wizard would not be half as unpleasant to him if he knew.

The bookcases fell away leaving a long curved workbench that flanked one of the walls and another that floated parallel to it with about a metre's width between them. One of the benefits of magic is that desks needn't be troubled by things like table-legs. Several cauldrons were scattered around, all in different metals.

There were hooks, rungs and shelves that ran above the workbenches, housing ladles and stirring apparatus in many different materials, vials, beakers, measuring equipment, and hundreds of tiny bottles housing ingredients on their very own shelf. Rowena's portrait hung out of reach of any fumes or explosions, surveying the whole area.

"The bottles of ingredients are spelled to hold far more than you see there. That one-" she pointed to a tiny deep red bottle near her, "-contains ten gallons of dragon's blood."

Harry nodded in appreciation, and listened with fascination as she described the things around her. The reason behind the variety of stirring equipment was that different potions reacted in marginally different ways depending on what material the ladle was that removed them, or what rod stirred the potion as it simmered or boiled. Harry was astounded by this. She explained to him that for potions such as the Helldancer, she would use up to ten different rods to stir it, and two to ladle it.

His move towards the area that served as a sitting room was almost a relief in its simplicity. There were two elegant red sofas and a comfortable armchair in front of a pleasantly glowing fire. Dropping into the armchair, Harry turned to the portrait frame above the fireplace.

"Rowena? How is it that the fires are always alight, despite that the house elves didn't know of this room?" he asked, frowning at the warm flames.

"Ah, another thing Helga doesn't know. When she was alive, Helga cornered me when I happened to mention a spell that activated the fire when someone walked into the rooms. She was never that good with wand waving. She had a much better hand with plants and anything that pertained to them." Harry looked thoughtfully into the dancing flames.

"I think you'd like my friend Hermione. She devours books like they are oxygen when she's drowning. She'd be fascinated by you, you know." Rowena frowned at his expression.

"Yet you say that with a heavy heart." Harry looked at her a little suspiciously.

"I don't want to bother you with petty things," he said. In truth, he seemed to spend far too much of his time having personal talks with portraits rather than living people.

"I've spent the past twenty years trapped without conversation. For someone who spent my days with mass mental stimulation it was tedious. The least I can do is see if I can help," she replied plainly. Harry chuckled. "Humour me."

"All right then. I last year, I had only two friends, and they were the best in the world. Then things changed. I watched someone die, and couldn't help it. The greatest Dark Lord of all time was resurrected before my eyes." He ignored her shocked expression, and continued in the same dry tone. "I've been having recurring dreams, and a few nights ago I slept walked towards the door. Over the summer I visited my friend Ron, and his family. I became far better acquainted with the youngest of them, the only girl: Ginny Weasley. When we returned to the school I met Opa Spectre, and we get along reasonably well now."

"The problem is that all Ron and Hermione do is argue when they should get over themselves and kiss each other instead. But, things started before all that. Hermione is buried in books because she wants to find solutions to everything and escape from the things that are really happening. Ron is loyal, but he blunders through life, has no tact, and punches before thinking." Harry glanced up to see her watching him carefully. "I suppose I should feel sad that we're not as close anymore, but what I saw…in the graveyard…I…they're not going to be able to understand that, and I don't find it as easy to talk to them anymore."

Rowena remained silent for a long moment before replying. "I had the same problem as your friend when I was younger. A passion for knowledge combined with a need for escape can be a very negative thing. However, if she can be encouraged to overcome this, then she will be a worthwhile companion. While she may not be the best person to confide to emotionally, she will help you very much."

"As for your friend Ron, he sounds very much like Godric when he was younger. Foolish, unfocused, blundering, but terribly well meaning. The type of man who always goes into things with the best intentions, and only realises afterwards that what he has done might be wrong." Harry nodded. "Let me guess. Is he a strategist?"

"He certainly is in chess," Harry replied.

"Well then. If you can get him to apply that strategy to his everyday life then he might begin to be a little more cautious about how he makes his moves, so to speak."

"Maybe," Harry said quietly. He could imagine Hermione being forced out of her rut of knowledge, but Ron seemed so immovable. But then, Harry recalled his face as he played chess; the look of concentration and _focus_ that he always associated with the game. Yes, perhaps it was possible, just barely.

"Death," Rowena told him, "is unavoidable. Although you might want to push your friends away to keep them safe, it's unfair to them."

Harry looked back down, thinking furiously. Was he pushing his friends away? He certainly hadn't spoken to them as much recently…but he'd been so busy, and they'd been so…irritating! And whenever he'd sat down to talk to them properly, they'd been distracted by each other. He turned to Rowena with a faint frown. He'd think on it when he had more time.

"Now, I heard you mention a Spectre?"

"Yes, Opa Spectre. Although I don't know if that's her full name," he added.

"Ah, the loyal secret keepers of the family Grey. The man I knew in my day was called Infernus Spectre. An odd one, but completely trustworthy as all Spectres are." Something in Harry's mind clicked. She could tell him about the Grey family!

"You can tell me about the Grey family!" he exclaimed eagerly, all thoughts to their previous conversation forgotten. "Could you?" She gave him a level stare.

"Some things, yes. But others you need to work out yourselves, or I'd be interfering."

"With what?" Harry asked curiously. Rowena just smiled another secretive smile.

"You'll see." Harry could tell a closed conversation when he heard one. "Now, tell me about Ginny Weasley."

Harry spent the next half an hour talking about her. Every time he thought he'd finished, Rowena asked a question that drew something else about her from him. He told her of her bravery, her fiery temper, her loyalty, compassion, intelligence, independence, curiosity, and wicked humour. He told her how she hated her brothers always looking down on her. He told her the colour of her hair and their escapades into Knockturn Alley. In the end he sat back, exhausted.

"She sounds perfect," Rowena said. Harry frowned, and she shot him another smile. "You'll see."

---

The next day dawned clear and cold. Harry had slept in, and he arrived down at breakfast with everyone else after defrosting the shower, as he had slept dreamlessly for the first time that week. He called out a 'good morning' to Ron and Hermione, who shot him brief smiles before turning to scowl at each other.

Harry joined a sleepy Ginny and was halfway through his breakfast when an irritable looking hawk landed in his plate, snapping up one of his bacon rashers.

It had been days since he had sent his letters to Sirius and Remus, and he was beginning to become worried that they wouldn't reply, or that something had happened to them. So it was that he was greatly relieved to recognise Remus's neat script, and then alarmed to see the bulbous brown package attached to the bird's leg.

It was some time before he could convince the hawk to let him untie it, and his plate was several bacon rashers less when it left. He glanced cautiously around him without making it too obvious, and once he noted that everyone was busy (aside from Snape, who shot him a death glare before turning disdainfully back to his breakfast) he unwrapped the parcel.

To his consternation, inside were three fat tomes on Moral Etiquette, and a letter. Harry was convinced that his godfather and loopy friend had finally lost their marbles under the stress until he saw 'DON'T WORRY' scrawled in big capital letters on the surface of the letter.

_Well of course,_ Harry thought, _they can hardly send me books on Animagus Transformation without disguising them first._

Unfortunately, the bell rang for his first lesson, and Harry was swept away in the school schedule before he had time to read them. However, at the first opportunity he found a secluded place and began to read, smiling at the places where the quill had obviously changed hands.

'_Dear Harry,_

_We are both delighted that you have chosen to follow in our notorious footsteps (Snuffles more so than Moony, who advises Harry to be very careful and follow all the rules in the books as breaking them will get you something far worse than a detention)._

_Enclosed are several tomes on 'Moral Etiquette', which I'm sure once you get past the front covers, you will be fascinating. Moony advises Harry to try and pre-empt the creature you feel you'll turn into. Snuffles advises Harry to become something really damn cool. It took us four years to become an honourable young man and dog, standard etiquette training is one year, but with our expert help and your extraordinary good luck, we estimate yours at around six months._

_You say that you have information to make the Marauders green with envy eh? Well, we'll just have to see about that. I'm certain that an old Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and his dog will be able to visit his favourite pupil over the holidays._

_Snuffles promises that he will have new clothes, but it seems unlikely that he will be able to get a suntan in this weather. Nevertheless, he will endeavour to try harder._

_Love,_

Snuffles and Moony' 

---

**Notes:**

Well, the meanings of Umbra and Candesco were mentioned in the chapter. Thanks, as always, for the reviews and support,

Dream Red


	13. Meeting Lucius Malfoy

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**Chapter Thirteen: Meeting Lucius Malfoy**

---

The books on Animagus training were both fascinating and complex, and Harry read them with voracity at every spare moment. Inside the front cover of the first book (actually entitled 'Man or Beast') was a slip of paper with instructions on changing the front covers to hold other titles.

As it turned out, the lessons they had on the topic in Transfiguration were really just skimming over the top f the subject. Harry consumed the books and was astounded.

To begin with, the person had to achieve the right frame of mind. There were no simple spells to determine the 'inner animal', but the book assured him that if he spent long enough meditating on it then he would just _know_. Harry was rather sceptical about this, but Sirius had reassured him.

Secondly there was the brewing of an intensely complex potion, which would have been easy were it a set thing, but instead the constituents and their amounts were changed to work with the creator's disposition and constitution.

A similar principle applied to the spells that he would have to cast in conjunction with creating the potion. They had to be tailored to fit him, and only him. The books helpfully provided a template ritual to work from, going through the variables and wording in _great_ detail. He supposed that he might always be able to ask Rowena and Helga for help with that.

On top of that was the skill and practice required for actual transformation after it was made possible. The potion changed the body so that it would adjust to the changes and cope with them, and the spells established links between the mind, the magic and the body, thus allowing Harry to become the creature that he imagined.

Harry almost groaned as he imagined the hours that he would spend tailoring the potion and spells. The book provided ways of 'testing' them; the spells could be tested on a detailed illusion, and if it didn't falter then they were fine, but the potion instructions were simple: If you aren't throwing up or in hospital, it's worked. It looked like Harry was going to spend an inordinately large amount of time in the hospital wing fumbling for excuses.

The week became hectic very quickly. He spent the majority of his spare time in either Helga or Rowena's rooms studying the books on the transformation, or in the library with Ginny and Opa, chatting about school and researching things of interest. Opa had grown closer to Ginny than him, although he still got along well with the girl. Harry had finished tending the first table of plants by the time the weekend swung around he had almost forgotten about his deal with Draco.

Almost.

He was sitting and chewing his food thoughtfully after a particularly strong dream that had ended up with him on the stairs down to the Gryffindor common room, freezing cold, and wondering where he was.

It was only when a certain blonde tapped him lightly on the shoulder that he remembered their pact – with a certain sense of satisfaction.

"Potter. My father will arrive here at ten promptly. Meet us in Professor Snape's office."

"Exciting," Harry replied blandly.

Harry was now pacing the corridors impatiently, trying to think of something to occupy him until Lucius arrived at the school. He was no fool; the blonde aristocrat would probably be livid at having to deal with the Boy Who Lived, although he wouldn't show it, and would no doubt try and trick Harry into a better bargain that would actually come out in his favour. Harry also had a sneaking suspicion that he would buy the other cane simply to spite him.

"Is that you again, little sprite? You never came and visited me." Harry froze before turning to find Agatha Snape's portrait staring at him with drowsy eyes and puffing on her hookah.

"Well, Snape didn't exactly give a good reaction last time," Harry grumbled.

"Oh, don't be silly. He's just scared that I might actually _tell_ you some of his dirty little secrets," she teased.

"Listen, will you do me a favour and actually warn me when he's walking towards me with a death glare on his face next time?" Harry pleaded. The woman appeared to consider it.

"Yes," she said finally. "If you spare me a few minutes of your company." Harry nodded his head in agreement and grinned at her.

"So, what _are_ Snape's dirty little secrets?" Harry asked with an impish smile.

"Oh, you are a tricky one. No wonder he doesn't like you. Well, lean close and I'll tell you a little story…"

---

When the clocks struck ten, Harry could be found lounging outside Snape's office, knowing quite a few too many things about him, and wondering how in hell Agatha had discovered so much. The incident with the pink hair would keep him laughing for a lifetime.

Knocking on the door had proved unhelpful, so Harry was forced to wait outside. He had decided to wear a dark grey Cloak of Smoke today, along with a shirt and trousers of similar colours. He entertained himself for the few minutes trying to make himself look as much like a Malfoy as possible. A mirror charm and a few glamours later had Harry snickering at his blonde hair, grey eyes and sneer.

"Mourning your heritage, Potter?" Draco's voice slid over him, and Harry looked up with a grin, banishing the glamours and the mirror.

"The chameleon changes its colours to blend in with its surroundings," Harry said with a wry smile. "Good morning to you too Draco, Mr Malfoy, Snape." He nodded to each person named.

Snape sneered at him, but didn't comment at the lack of the 'Professor'. He simply stepped past him and unlocked the door. Harry made sure that the Malfoy's entered the room first, allowing him to have a good look at their faces and postures.

Draco's shoulders were slightly tensed, and although his face was a mask of calm, Harry thought that he could detect a little worry in his eyes. Doubtless his father was rather less than happy at the arrangement.

Lucius himself was as elegant and composed as ever. His hair was loose, and his Malfoy mask so firmly in place that one would doubt that it was a mask at all. Sadly, Draco had yet to perfect that technique. A few well-placed insults usually cracked it. Lucius was in black as always, and Harry noted with some amusement that he was carrying his ever-present cane.

Closing the door behind him and noting the insufficient number of chairs, and with the others seated Harry rummaged through his pockets until he found a piece of parchment. Crumpling it and dropping it to the floor, he enlarged it and transfigured himself a comfortable armchair. He'd praised the day that he learnt how to convert objects to furniture. He'd discovered that paper made nice, solid, if a little rumpled chairs.

Sitting, he noted the expressions around the room. Draco was looking at his transfiguration with a shade of admiration, Snape sneered, and Lucius merely raised one delicate brow. Harry debated as whether to let Snape remain in the room during the deal. On the one hand, it would be amusing to watch his reactions, but on the other he was distracting, didn't need to know, and would probably tell Dumbledore. Decision made.

"If you're ready to begin," Harry spoke softly, but firmly. "I would like to voice my objections to Professor Snape being present to what are in effect, private dealings, although he is very kind to allow the use of his office."

"Don't you dare take that-" the older man began, but Harry stood cutting him off.

"If you don't agree, then you'll have to excuse me." He shot a vicious grin towards Lucius. "I hope you enjoy the effects." He was almost at the door, and beginning to doubt whether he had done the right thing when Lucius spoke.

"That will not be necessary. I am sure that Severus will not object." His tone stated quite firmly that there would _most definitely_ be no objections. Harry returned to his seat, and Snape left with a malicious glare towards him.

"What an amusing display, Mr Potter," the blonde noted.

"Well, one does what one can," Harry agreed with a smile.

"Indeed." Harry was struck with how the man _didn't blink._ "Draco here has been telling me a great many interesting things about you."

"No doubt," Harry remarked dryly, biting back a cutting retort about Draco's bargaining skill. Lucius, it seemed, had caught the unspoken insult to his son, if the slight narrowing of his eyes was any indication.

"Might I inquire why you wish to purchase the brother cane?" Lucius asked. Harry's eyes brightened at the thought of another bargaining opportunity.

"If you're so kind as to grant me something in return," Harry remarked offhandedly. Lucius inclined his head a little as an indication that Harry should continue. "Five minutes of uninterrupted conversation," he stated. Of course, the man would have to fall for his verbal trap first

"Of course," the older man stated, and Harry was inwardly relieved.

"Shall we begin then?" Harry said, leaning back into his chair and steepling his fingers. "Is the core of your cane of the same material of that of the brother cane?"

"No, it is not," Lucius said with a small smirk. Harry nodded. He had an inkling of what it might be, but it was still too vague. "The bargain is to take place in this room, under immediate circumstances. The first to comply is Harry Potter who will list all conscious reasons for his purchasing interests. The binding is _Creo Pactio_." He rattled off an obscure spell as the retribution for not complying, and Harry narrowed his eyes at the man.

"_Perfigo_," he hissed, concentrating on the image of a snake, using the elder Malfoy's cane for a basis. He was interested to watch the older man's eyes widen slightly. Obviously he had forgotten or disbelieved Harry's use of parseltongue.

He reached forward and Harry shook his hand, watching in fascination as the bargaining spell settled over their palms. Taking a deep breath Harry spoke.

"Mainly, it's just simple curiosity, and an interest in owning things. Besides that, brother items have always held a fascination for me, and the addition of a cane would merit quite the collection." Harry couldn't help but grin as he wondered what Lucius was thinking about the reference to his and Voldemort's brother wands. "I must say, that there are certain…advantages to brother items, which made me wonder why you hadn't purchased it yourself. That further sparked my curiosity. Oh, and last but not least, it would be delightful to use it and spite you."

Harry finished with a faint smile as he watched the other man absorb this. Harry could imagine him already running through the ways that he could use the information to his advantage.

"Very well, you may begin your idle conversation," he replied. Harry mirrored his earlier condescending smile.

"But you didn't say with who." He turned his eyes to the silver snake head that topped the cane. "_Darling._"

Inwardly, Harry was dancing with glee at the look on Lucius's face, first when he realised that he had left a loophole in the bargain, and second when the normally statuesque snake came alive, blinking and flicking it's tongue out as if tasting the air.

"_Master?"_ it asked, eyes locking on to Harry.

"_For now. There are several things that I wish to know, if you will tell me."_ Harry's lips twitched a little at the fact that the snake had called him 'master'.

"_As you wish. I have been long without a speaking partner._"

"_I am afraid that we only have five minutes. Firstly, what is your core?"_

"_Inside…my core is scale and tooth of the king of serpents."_

"_And that of your brother?"_ Harry hissed.

"_I do not know. The same beast, but not the same pieces."_ Harry nodded. He had guessed as much.

"_Why is he asking about my fight with the king of serpents?_"

"_I do not speak his tongue. People come and go, some in pain, but he does not converse to me as you do._"

"_Could…could you stop him from performing certain spells?_" Harry asked hesitantly. The mention of people leaving the man's presence in pain had struck a chord with him. The snake appeared to think.

"_It is…possible, but I would be in danger._" It sounded worried. Harry flicked his tongue out reassuringly.

"_Only one. Stop him from performing Avada Kedavra_." Both Malfoy's flinched at the whispered spell, and Harry grinned up at them. He wondered whether Lucius would chance breaking their bargain to interrupt him.

"_I will try, master."_ Harry had a sudden thought.

"_Who do you serve more faithfully, him or me?"_

"_You, master. There has not been a parselmouth in their nest since my first master created me._" Harry's grin only widened at that piece of information.

"_If he tries to kill me or harm me fatally in any way, would you attempt to stop him?"_

"_Yes master._"

"_And if he try's to do the same to my nest-mates and familiars?_"

"_I will stop him._"

"_You must do the same if I say 'king of serpents' in either tongue,_" Harry told it. "_Do you swear to obey me first and foremost, and not serve anyone who is this man's master, name of Lord Voldemort, or Tom Marvolo Riddle?_" Harry hurried, well aware that his time was running out.

"_I swear._" The snake nodded compliantly.

"_Has that man ever spoken to you or given you orders?_"

"_I am-"_

"Potter." Lucius's glare was icy. "Your time is up." Harry scowled at him for the interruption.

"You have an intelligent creature there Lucius. It is a shame that the Malfoy family seems unable to produce a parselmouth," Harry sneered. Lucius just fixed those pale eyes on him with an appraising look.

"You should be more careful with your words, Mr Potter," he replied softly. "Or you may end up regretting them."

---

The encounter with Lucius had left Harry feeling drained. He may have been used to reading other people's emotions and intentions from years of dodging the Dursleys vindictive anger, but maintaining an impenetrable mask of indifference around a man that over the years he had learnt to hate was another thing entirely.

Making a spur of the moment decision, Harry turned away from the Gryffindor common rooms and instead began to walk down Hogwart's great stone steps towards the grounds.

The day should have felt heavy, for the sky was overcast and grey, but Harry found the air clear and refreshing, enjoying the way his breath misted before him. He briefly considered visiting Hagrid, but decided that instead he would drop in on his way back.

Turning, Harry decided to take a walk around the lake. Since the day was pleasant it seemed a nice idea, and it had been a long while since he had wandered Hogwarts grounds. Besides, he might even get further around the lake than on his previous outings. In all his years at the school he had never managed to completely traverse the edge of the massive stretch of water.

He had been walking for about half an hour before he reached a place that looked as if it would be a good thinking spot. A tall and gnarled tree hung over the water's edge, and Harry easily clambered into its branches with the aid of a large boulder.

The water stretched peacefully before him, quite unruffled by the light breeze. He sat for several minutes simply staring out across the lake and the beautiful landscape before him.

Unbidden, his memory of diving beneath the surface returned to him. He remembered the eyrie darkness that had clung to him as he'd swum deeper, and that panic that had filled him as he'd spotted those limp and floating bodies in the mer-village.

He remembered his next task with a queasy feeling in his stomach. That moment when both he and Cedric had raced for the Cup, and that horrible lurch as they'd taken hold of it.

With a jerk, Harry pulled away from his train of thoughts. He really didn't want to have to relive Cedric's death again. It had haunted him enough in his nightmares before these odd dreams had begun, making their regular occurrences almost a relief. Flicking a piece of bark into the gently lapping water Harry scowled. He couldn't believe that that idiot Fudge had dismissed him out of hand.

The entire incident had left him enraged, but he'd managed to bury it after nightmares he'd been having had been replaced by his recurring dreams. He'd brooded on it a little over the summer, but since he was so far away from the Wizarding world it had seemed distant. Now he had returned to Hogwarts though…

Harry growled and threw another piece of bark into the water, watching idly as it dropped like a stone rather than floating. He frowned a little as he watched it, his thoughts drifting back to the occurrences since he'd returned to school. There was simply so much happening him that he needed to get it in some kind of order.

The changes in his friendships hadn't affected him so greatly, but he felt a kind of heaviness whenever he thought of Hermione and Ron. Although they weren't exactly making an effort with him either, he could feel the weight of obligation baring down on him. He _felt_ he should work to bridge the gap that had grown between them, even if they weren't. It was however, tempered by the lightness and simple content that he felt around Ginny and even Opa as he got to know her better.

He enjoyed their meetings in the library where they would sit and just _talk_. Ron wasn't there to try and whip out Chess or Gobstones, and Hermione wasn't lecturing them; they simply enjoyed each other's company. He and Ginny had begun to meet in their normal place under the excuse of researching the Grey family (which had become a bit of a project between them once Opa had joined).

Now they didn't even have to mention it. They would just sit in their normal place at lunch or dinner knowing that at some point someone else would turn up. Even if no one did, it wasn't uncomfortable as they would simply pull out a book on one of their pet projects and do research for the others.

However, an hour before the curfew Harry disappeared to his second life. Ron had only questioned him once about his lateness, and Harry had forced a blush to his face in response. Ron could think all he liked, but after a few awkward questions that Harry skirted around, he remained silent on the matter. After all, Harry was regularly seeing two women…just not in the way his redheaded friend imagined.

By this time Harry was generally quite tired, but he had his usual coffee in whatever rooms he was in, and talked to the two portraits. Helga, as ever, was warm and funny, and Harry regarded her with a friendly respect. Rowena however, was a different issue.

He liked her very much, no doubt about that. Not only had he not had so much time to get to know her as he had Helga, but she also lacked Helga's intuitive gift of putting people at ease. Rowena was far more secretive, and although she was kind, she was far more formal and Harry found himself a little intimidated by her. He also got the feeling that she knew much more about him than she was letting on, or at least was far more perceptive than her counterpart. Harry found that her intelligence rivalled and surpassed Hermione's, the most intelligent witch _he _knew, not because of a greater knowledge, but because Rowena had opened her mind to every little sign, and picked things up from their conversations that Helga missed.

Simply put, Harry felt far more _exposed_ when he was around her.

By now the two of them could communicate, and frequently visited each other's portraits, so Harry found himself feeling less guilty for leaving one of them without conversation because they both crammed into a portrait and talked with him as he drank his coffee.

The rooms were exquisite, and Harry favoured them quite equally; opting for Rowena's rooms when he felt more scholarly and Helga's when he wanted to relax and feel comforting familiarity. He had yet to fully explore both, but he had managed to find the time to delve into Rowena's library, and he still worked at least once a week on Helga's plants. He was happy to take his time about it, as he wanted to enjoy each thing he came across fully.

Then of course, there was this whole business with the Malfoys. It made Harry frown in irritation as he thought of them. That he had given them information didn't trouble him too greatly, as they could have gained nothing of use from the meagre amount exchanged. It was _why_ they had wanted it that bothered him. The work he had done with the cane had made Harry very smug, but he had known he was playing with fire by bargaining with them, let alone being alone in the same room as them.

Although that he despised the Malfoys, he couldn't help admiring certain things about them. Draco was obviously well schooled in etiquette and formal manners, knowing how to deal and negotiate a bargain. Harry had come out all right, but he was relying mainly on instincts and guesswork to guide him. The fact that he had known Draco as an enemy for so long had helped him.

Not only that, but they obviously worked only for themselves. Oh, of course, Harry knew that Lucius was lapdog to Voldemort, but the man was first and foremost out for himself and there was a power in that that Harry envied greatly. Throughout his time with the Dursleys, he had learnt to fend for himself, and use every opportunity to make sure he was fed and clothed, but he had been cowed in the process.

Once he'd come to the wizarding world, he had been flipped about entirely. His gratitude at being taken away from that place, being revered, loved and shown around made both his hero-complex and insecurities flare up. Harry's frown deepened as he considered himself. Introspection had become a common thing with him over the years.

He'd felt desperate to protect and earn assurance that all the gifts of friends, wealth and love wouldn't be taken away from him. It was this need that had driven him in all of his escapades, right up until Cedric had been hit with the Unforgivable.

Breathing a deep sigh, Harry turned to look out over the lake. That had been the precise moment when it had all shattered. All the thoughts and shifts in his brain had happened in that second, now they simply lay in his subconscious, waiting for him to reveal them.

Cedric had been a representation of everything he should have, and protect. He was brave, intelligent, yet innocent and carefree, happily engaging in a dangerous competition. In the moment he had been killed, Harry had realised not only that he had all those things, if only he would stop clinging onto them like a drowning man, but simultaneously that although they were his, they could be destroyed with the flick of a wand. It was an odd duality of realisation. These things were both present but vulnerable, which made them all the more valuable to him.

The important thing he had learnt was that just like with the killing curse, there was nothing he could do but what he already was doing. If he could stop clutching at the moments like they were about to fade, then when danger _did_ come, he would be emotionally ready for it. He might also stop getting in so much trouble. He didn't _need_ or _want_ to save the world.

Harry felt as if everything was simultaneously tugging apart, and pulling together. It left him in an odd mood. At times he could feel the world tumbling down around him, and at others he would have the reverse. One thing he knew, however, was that when he removed everything that had happened to him recently it all drew back to the same recurring dream.

With a huff of frustration, Harry flicked another piece of bark into the water of the lake, watching with satisfaction as it sunk and left ripples in its wake. How odd, that bark should sink so fast…

He picked off another, then another and dropped them one by one, watching with fascination as they sunk.

"The wood reacts with water very oddly." Harry started and clutched at a branch, looking for the voice that came from below him. "They don't make good boats."

Peering around the thick trunk of the tree, Harry spotted Neville looking steadily up at him, a slight smile on his face.

"They're used in coffins to bury wizards at sea," he continued, and Harry shot him a returning smile.

"Hey, Nev. What are you doing out here?"

"Just walking. I do that a lot when I'm at Hogwarts. Sometimes I collect plants for Professor Sprout too," he answered lightly.

Harry did a double take. Although he was the same boy, there was a quiet confidence in his voice and posture that required no announcing. He had grown taller over the summer, and had a light tan from working in the sun. His face was still round, but it had lost a little of its fat, making him seem older. At that moment Harry seriously revised his idea not to let anyone into Helga's rooms for the moment. He just knew that the other boy would be ecstatic, and probably a lot more competent at tending to the plants than Harry was.

"Are you walking back to the castle?" Harry asked. Neville nodded.

"Yes. Do you want to come?" Harry smiled ruefully in return.

"I think I'm done with my share of brooding for today," he agreed as he climbed down.

They talked a little on the way back, but most of it was spent in comfortable silence. When he decided to bring his friends to the rooms, Harry decided, Neville would be among them.

---

**Notes:** There has been some confusion over the mistake I made concerning which year the story starts, so I'll reiterate what I said in the author's notes at the top of the first chapter: I made a foolish mistake, not being so familiar with the books as I am now, and mistook the fourth book as being the fifth in the series, meaning that the story starts from the events of GoF, but Harry is in his sixth year. Sorry for any confusion that caused people. Thanks for the kind reviews,

Dream red


	14. White Wings and Quidditch

---

**Chapter Fourteen: White Wings and Quidditch**

---

The weeks had passed. Halloween had come and gone without much more than the usual festivities. Harry was now on the eve of his first Quidditch match this year, only a little time before the Christmas holidays began. He had been practising with the team a few nights a week, and he was confident that he would be able to win. That didn't, however, stop the pre-game rush that rendered him incapable of eating, and left him tapping his foot impatiently in his seat.

Harry had opted to eat in the common room instead of the Great Hall, as he really didn't think he'd be able to handle another person wishing him luck. Knowing his luck, he'd find out that Voldemort had charmed the Snitch to kill him. So, instead of fielding well-wishers he sat in his favourite high-backed chair sipping his coffee and tapping his foot.

"Harry." He looked up, seeing Ginny looking at him with mild irritation.

"Yes?"

"Stop tapping your foot."

"Sorry," he apologised, shifting and drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair. He heard a huff of exasperation and turned to see her looking at him again. "What?"

"You're just drumming your fingers instead!" she told him, exasperated, and Harry smirked at her.

"You only told me to stop tapping my feet," he said, emphasising the 'thunk' sound his fingers made as they moved.

"Stop it," Harry's smirk widened, but he complied. "We need to get your mind off the game."

"I'm not nervous. I just can't see why we're still waiting for it to begin." He ran a hand through his hair and looked longingly at the overcast sky.

"So," Ginny began, stressing the word and making Harry fix his eyes on her. "Where do you keep sneaking off to each night?"

The world suddenly dropped away under Harry's feet, making him feel decidedly exposed. He wasn't ready to show his friends the rooms, and he certainly couldn't tell them without showing them because they simply wouldn't believe him. Besides, Helga may have agreed, but Rowena hadn't yet, which would leave him to answer the awkward question of why Rowena Ravenclaw was in Helga's portrait sharing tea with her.

"I can't tell you that yet." Seeing Ginny's expression darken slightly in response, he held up a hand to still her protest. "I will, I promise I will, but I can't show you what I've found until a few people agree. I'll be working on them more over the Christmas break. I think I may be allowed by then, but it takes a little convincing," he told her sincerely. Ginny still looked a little irritated, but at least she wasn't yelling, as Ron would have.

"You'd better, you know," she said, her expression becoming rather sly. "Or you'll find me cheering for Slytherin at your next match."

"Cheer all you like, they'll still lose," Harry pronounced. She looked thoughtfully at him.

"I don't know, Draco is good. Good enough to win every time were it not for you." Harry grimaced.

"Don't even say it. Not only did he buy his way onto the team, but he actually has the skill to back it up too," Harry grumbled.

"The opposition is just distracted by his pretty looks," she said sweetly, making Harry choke.

"Will you stop going on about that?" he looked at her accusingly. "It's like you're trying to set me up with him."

"What if I am?" she asked, her face becoming a little more serious. Harry's eyes widened and he gaped at her. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly, and he let out a breath, shaking his head at her.

"I can't believe I nearly fell for that," he said, and Ginny reflected his earlier smirk back at him.

"You're just too easy to wind up, cousin," she said, using their private endearment.

"What would you say if I told you I was trying to set you up with Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked her pointedly.

"Let me at him," she retorted, letting a mock-dreamy expression cross her face. Harry just shook his head again, muttering 'girls'.

---

The crowd was roaring outside. The sound was barely dimmed by the wooden doors that separated the Gryffindor team from the playing field, and Harry couldn't concentrate on anything by the muffled cheers. Ron's voice floated straight past him; he was sure that Ron was giving brilliant strategic advice to the team, but Harry couldn't have listened if he'd tried.

When the doors finally crept open, time seemed to slow, and Harry mounted his broom slowly, feeling the familiar faint tingle of magic that buzzed in his fingertips as he touched the handle. He wondered briefly if it was one of the chills coming on but he dismissed the idea, as he could feel the urge to _go_ rather than a dreamy daze.

Then the team was shooting out onto the field, circling once to the cheers of the students below before lining up in front of the Slytherin team. Harry could feel the world fade around him as his focus turned to the box that contained the Snitch. It was released first, and he watched it rise and zip away, his eyes following it as far as he could.

Looking back, he was in time to meet Draco's gaze, and the blonde shot him a sneer. When the Quaffle was thrown into the air, Harry pulled his broom up, flipping over his team-mates to zoom high into the sky above the pitch.

It was glorious to be in the air again. Quidditch practices were dull compared to the adrenaline rush of the match itself. A glance at Draco told him all he needed to know. Harry could tell that his victory was practically assured. Draco was good, yes, but he was tense, unfocused, and most of all, he was much too busy with trying to get Harry hurt than anything else.

To his surprise, Opa was playing as Beater, and had already knocked one of the Gryffindor Chasers almost completely off her broom. The problem with her, it seemed, was that the Gryffindor Beaters rather forgot about her, so that when she intercepted them they were taken off guard. Of course, being Slytherin she held no reservations about using her skills and fading almost completely out of notice, which was perfect because of course, no one could say she was cheating. In fact, they blamed it mostly on their own inattention.

With an ecstatic grin on his face, Harry soared until he as flying almost vertically before flipping his broom in a complex loop and spiralling directly towards the ground in a classic Wronski Feint. He knew that it was far too early for anyone to assume that he'd seen the Snitch, but Draco bit the bait anyway, and sped towards him as he fell.

Moulding his body around the broom as much as he could, Harry tightened his spirals, assiduously avoiding a Bludger as he slid out of the dive and pulled up to circle the Slytherin goalposts. Draco was too familiar with his flying to fall for the trick and crash into the ground, and so he had already pulled out of the dive earlier than Harry, simply trailing him and getting in the way of the Gryffindor Chasers.

Having become completely relaxed about being airborne, Harry began the game in earnest. He noted distantly that the score was 30 vs. 10 to Slytherin, but after all they had a good set of Chasers this year. Rising into the sky once more, Harry began to circle the pitch, eyes following every flicker of gold avidly.

The crowd, he found, was very distracting. There were flashes of gold and yellow everywhere, banners and signs that sparkled before him only to be pulled away when he tried to focus on them. There was a particularly annoying one which was an enlarged Golden Snitch, reading 'Go Harry Potter' on it, and glittered brightly in the corner of his eye.

Doing a barrel roll to avoid several speeding Gryffindor Chasers, Harry circled the pitch, occasionally weaving or getting in the way of the Slytherins. Over at the other end of the pitch he could see Draco doing the same thing.

It slowly dawned on Harry that the pitch seemed to be getting colder by the moment, his breath coming out in thick misty huffs. The cool reminded him of the time that the Dementors had come into the game, and he felt sweat break out over his forehead before it became icy. Floating over the stands, he noticed that the teachers were all eyeing each other, McGonagall no longer even bothering to correct Luna Lovegood's peculiar commentary.

At that moment, several things happened simultaneously. The first was that time slowed as it always did before a chill set in, and Harry suddenly found himself moving far faster than those on brooms around him. The second was that as he spun around he noticed the Snitch moving languidly towards the staff and guest stands. He urged his broom forwards, ducking into a sweeping dive as the Snitch moved over the heads of the teachers below.

As he moved, he coiled into his broom and dropped like a stone, only coming up as he became level with the stands. He was reaching towards the Snitch, ignoring Snape's slowed down surprised look as he zoomed past, a hair's breadth away from him. He could see the tiny fluttering wings before him, beating slower as if it were becoming weak, the sound of rushing water building in the back of his mind.

_Wings_. His prey lay before him, and Harry had an inexpressible urge to spread his wings. He passed an equally startled Lucius and Dumbledore, the flash of white and blonde registering as he grasped the Snitch in his hand and pulled his broom upwards. _White wings._

When time reinstated its normal speed and a chill like none other before it swept across the grounds, Harry cheered for his catch, but more so for the vision he had had of his animal form. _White wings. He had white wings…_

---

Reality snapped back. The crowd became silent as the chill hit, burning through veins and freezing every last drop of water around them. Harry noticed that several students appeared to have fainted. Luna Lovegood carried on unperturbed, announcing that Harry Potter had caught the Snitch.

Few students could bring themselves to lift their icy hands and clap for him, but Harry felt the roar of applause anyway. He felt surprisingly warm, although his lips were chapped and his hands so cold that they had become numb. On the opposite side of the field, Draco simply looked at him with wide eyes, an expression mirrored to a lesser degree by the rest of the players who had hadn't quite realised that the game had come to an end.

Gliding over the teachers' stand, he eyed them without letting himself be too conspicuous. Now that he was coming back to himself from the dreamy state the deep chills always put him in his mind was working overtime. He knew that at some point someone would question the reason for his, to their eyes, sudden accelerated speed. Damn! He didn't _want_ to be connected to the chills!

Harry was no fool. He knew very well how it would appear if he were the only one not affected by the chills. Any teacher would instantly want to know why, and where the item affecting the school was. After his run-in and barely scraped survival with Voldemort at the Tournament last year, he knew that some would suspect him to have joined the man's ranks, and this was something that wouldn't help their suspicions.

Why had his broom been affected like that? He knew that by some freak coincidence, it appeared that he remained quite free while everyone else slowed down around him, but his broom shouldn't have been affected at all. In fact, it should have slowed, considering that the cold was a result of magic being sucked from the castle. The brooms would surely have been affected too?

He knew that there had to be some reason that this was happening to him, and at that moment he made up his mind to tell Ginny and Opa as soon as he could. Usually things that happened only to him ended up badly. The Tournament was one example, and the Chamber of Secrets was another. They also usually involved Voldemort. Knowing that, he should have told someone as soon as he realised that time only stayed at a normal pace for him.

But somewhere, deep inside him, he didn't _want_ to have to run to someone every time something happened to him. One day, something would happen, and he would have to deal with it himself. He shook his head as he spotted two sharp stares. If anyone were to figure it out, it would be Snape or Dumbledore. Sighing, he wheeled away in time to hear McGonagall take over the commentary from Luna.

"The match is over, please will all students return to their dorms, and all prefects make sure that no student goes stray. This is a matter of urgency. There will be no punishment, as disobeying these rules will surely be punishment enough."

Harry's eyes flicked over the stands. He could already see Hermione standing with a worried frown on her face, rolling out orders to the other Gryffindors. Harry located Ginny at the front of the Gryffindor stands, looking up at Harry. He sent her a wave back, and lowered his broom to draw level with her.

"Gin, I need you to get back to the common rooms fast," he said in a hushed voice, his stomach doing flip-flops as he thought about telling her of the time slow. "I need to tell you something, and Opa too. If you find her before I do, get her to come with us, ok?"

"Ok, cousin," she replied in equally hushed tones. As she was turning to leave, Harry had an idea.

"Get on my broom and I can fly you down to the school entrance." He told her. Ginny looked at him sceptically, before casting a glance around at the milling students. Then, stepping onto the wooden barrier, she shakily took Harry's hand, and took a seat behind him, threading her arms around his waist.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could already see other players doing the same for their friends. He grinned as Ron flew anxiously over to Hermione. He could already hear the argument before it began. Hermione would say it was her duty to help the students, and Ron if he were clever about it, would say that so far there was no one waiting at the bottom of the stands to guide the students to the common room.

Harry felt the cold from Ginny seeping through his robes, making him worry a little about her body temperature. She shouldn't be that cold. It didn't take long before he reached the ground, as she insisted that he merely drop her at the foot of the stands.

Soaring back into the air, he scanned the pitch for Opa. She was skimming easily over the heads of her fellow Slytherins towards the castle. Urging his broom forwards, he sped after her, eventually only catching up near the entrance.

"Opa!" he called, and she slowed, drawing to a halt above the doors to the castle.

"Yes Harry?"

"Use your skills and meet Ginny to go to the Gryffindor Common Room. I need to tell you both something," he said hurriedly, ignoring the worry that came with thinking about their responses.

"You think you should let a snake in the lion's den?" Harry mirrored her smile.

"They need something to keep them on their toes." Opa nodded once, sharply, before alighting on the stone steps and fading out of view.

---

Harry had wasted no time in returning to his rooms, and landing shortly after Opa, he cast one worried look over his shoulder before hurrying to stow his broom away in his room. He would usually put it in the password protected broom shed for the Gryffindor Quidditch players, but there wouldn't be time and he really didn't want to be caught by a teacher who might question him. No doubt Snape would already be skulking around the broom sheds with the hopes of catching him.

Students were beginning to trickle into the Gryffindor common room as he came back down from the dormitories, led by Hermione who sent him a tight smile before heading back out of the room to herd the students who were still outside.

In a split second decision, Harry decided that he should tell his two oldest friends too. They may have been unintentionally ignoring him recently, but they had been helpful in previous years, and they knew how to keep secrets. In the previous year Hermione had learnt to get over her 'tell Dumbledore immediately!' reaction too.

A flash of deep red hair caught his eyes and he breathed a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been holding. Scanning the room once more, he tried to concentrate enough to spot Opa, but the crowds of people pouring through the portrait hole distracted him. How was he ever meant to tell them a secret in this mess? Well, it was nothing a few silencing and privacy spells wouldn't solve he supposed, because he didn't much feel like waiting until the common room emptied again.

When the last of the students had entered the room and Hermione had finally been persuaded to stop keeping a watch outside, Harry pulled them into a mildly shadowed corner. There was a flicker at the edge of his vision and he allowed himself a smile.

"Opa." The blonde emerged from the shadows wearing a smirk, and Harry found himself reminded of the Cheshire cat and its floating grin. Ron let out a loud yelp as he noticed her, but thankfully Ginny had already had the foresight to cast a silencing charm.

"What the bloody hell is a _Slytherin_ doing in our common room?" Ron began to yell, but lowered it to an angry hiss when Harry shot him a glare.

"Look, I need to tell you all something very important, and Opa is as much a friend as you are, so I'd thank you to stop scowling at her." Ron simply looked at him open-mouthed.

"You can't be serious. She's a Slytherin, Harry."

"Oh, and I need you all to put up some nice protective spells. I don't want people noticing or overhearing this." Harry continued, acting as if he hadn't heard the redhead. The three girls nodded and complied, so Ron could only grumble and cast a silencing charm of his own.

Looking at the four of them in front of him, Harry took a deep breath to steady himself. Merlin he hated the way he always ended up associated with dark occurrences.

"Right." He fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a packet of Every Flavour Beans, which he promptly transfigured into slightly odd scented chairs.

"Well, I suppose you've all noticed the chills," he began.

"You'd have to be pretty stupid not to notice that all the water in the castle keeps freezing," Ron said, and Hermione frowned irritably at him.

"Well, don't you think that's odd Ron, considering that the castle has some of the most powerful warming charms ever on its heating system to make sure the water is always hot?" she said cuttingly. Ron looked as if he were going to protest, but swallowed his retort as Hermione glared and turned to Harry.

"Sorry, mate. Go on."

"Well, Ginny and me were talking about this near the beginning of the term, and we reckoned that it was magic being drained from the castle." He told them. He paused and watched as Ron's eyes widened and Hermione gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.

"Of course!" she exclaimed with a frown.

"Then, when we were in the library straight after one of the chills, Madame Pince ordered everyone to return to their common rooms. Ginny, Opa and I decided to follow them, so we got the invisibility cloak and followed the teachers to outside the Headmaster's office."

Harry watched them carefully. Ron looked shocked that they'd been having adventures without him, and Hermione looked torn between her respect for the rules and her nascent curiosity.

"The teachers had been reinforcing the wards repeatedly since the chills had begun, so we think that they must have started before the school term did. Hagrid said something about them on the platform before we even arrived." Ginny added in gravely.

"The primary wards are meant to fall before Christmas if the chills carry on occurring at this strength," Opa informed them. "As it is, they've been increasing strength since then."

"We know that magic is being sucked from the castle, because when I cast warming charms in the middle of the night after a chill, I did a different detection spell and they were fading." Harry cut off Hermione's imminent interruption. "Also…I've found out that if it's an object that's doing this, then it would have to be inside the castle." He hesitated at telling them information when he couldn't reveal Helga as the source.

"We think its Voldemort." Ginny stated simply, and Harry noticed that her brother winced at the name, whilst shooting her an odd look for speaking it without fear.

"This is awful Harry," Hermione whispered, putting her hand over his and squeezing it reassuringly.

"We'll find it, wherever it is," Ron added forcefully, and Harry thanked Fate for introducing him to such loyal friends, even if they _were_ incredibly frustrating at times.

"That's not what I came to tell you," Harry continued, his voice flat. "See, the chills aren't all that happens. You might have noticed that in the Quidditch match today I sped up just before I caught the Snitch."

"It was brilliant! You just zipping straight over their heads," Ron said, grinning enthusiastically, whilst Hermione frowned in thought.

"Well, in fact, I didn't speed up at all. You all slowed down," Harry told them. Ron's smile faded into consternation, and Hermione and Ginny fell into identical confused expressions. Only Opa regarded him thoughtfully.

"You are the only one not affected by the spell," she stated. Harry could have kissed her for taking the revelation out of his hands.

"Yes. It grows a little colder just before, and then time slows for everything around me, like you're all moving underwater. I feel all dreamy and my concentration is out, and in the background there is this sound like…" he paused for thought, "like a really fast river, or a flood. Like tons of water rushing through the hallway towards me, and when it gets so close I can almost feel it, it stops and the chill starts."

They all looked at him with mixed expressions of shock and confusion, although Opa seemed to be taking the news with a clear mind. She stared at him with those undefined eyes for a long moment before speaking again.

"Then there's a way to stop people being affected," Hermione's eyes immediately brightened at the prospect of such a research challenge.

"We're going to find out how," she told him, but Harry shook his head at her.

"I've already looked. There's nothing in the libraries we have access to," he said, carefully omitting his forays into Rowena's library. Hermione frowned, and Harry could already tell that she was going to look again.

"Why you?" Ron asked bluntly, his face now moulding into a thoughtful look.

"I don't know. I don't want it to be me. It's always bloody me, and by the sixth year it's getting boring," he said with a small smile, which Ginny mirrored off to his side.

"It's nothing we can't figure out by ourselves," Ginny spoke casually, but Harry heard the subtle stress on the 'ourselves' bit, and noticed that Hermione had stopped herself from saying whatever she was about to.

"It's such dark magic…" Hermione trailed off, thinking. "For You-Know-Who to be sucking magic off the castle he must be doing something really bad." Harry frowned. He was about to reply when Ginny beat him to it.

"How exactly is sucking up magic Dark?" she cut in, and Hermione turned her head sharply towards her.

"It's draining the wards around the castle Ginny! How can it not be Dark magic? Do you think that someone could do this without having to…murder somebody or something like that?" she demanded. Ginny simply looked at her coolly.

"Yes. I do. Dark magic isn't always to do with killing people. I thought you would know that Hermione." Harry looked at Ginny curiously out of the corner of his eye. He knew that, like him she was irritated by the arbitrary classification of what was 'Dark', but he'd never seen such an extreme response, especially against Hermione, who had currently recoiled as if struck.

"Dark magic doesn't have to be used to kill people to still be evil," Hermione said stubbornly. "It's the fact that Dark spells can only be cast by people who have black souls that make it so bad."

Ginny looked as if she were going to protest, but shut her mouth as she saw Hermione's belligerent look.

"So what are we going to do? If You-Know-Who is draining the wards to get to Harry then one of the kids in this school have to have whatever the thing doing the draining is," Ron mused. Harry sighed in response, preparing himself for the inevitable angst against one Draco Malfoy. There was a lot of planning to be done.

---

**Notes:**

This chapter is rather later - was messing me around and bringing up error messages with a link to a non-existant support page whenever I tried to upload documents. Anyone have an email addy for the site admin or something similar to report problems like this?

Sorry if updates become a little sporadic in the coming weeks as I've a lot of work to do. They should be pretty frequent, but if they're a few days later don't think I've dropped off the face of the earth. I'm just in a very stressful time work-wise.

Dream Red


	15. The Ritual

---

**Chapter Fifteen: The Ritual**

---

The plan they came up with was rough but workable. Hermione would hit the books once more and discover all she could about the leeching of magical power. Harry would record all his experiences when the chills hit, and the rest of them would do research into ways to block magical leeching. They had all looked rather abashed when Harry had pointed out that they wouldn't be able to use normal magical methods. He was becoming increasingly aware that even Hermione relied far too much on magic.

When they had finished, they dropped the privacy charms and headed to the portrait to see Opa off. Hermione stood on the threshold of the door, fretting about both teachers and what might happen to Opa if she wandered about the corridors on her own. Harry had a sudden idea as the blonde girl began to fade from notice.

"Wait!" he called, before dropping his voice a little. "I'm coming with you."

A quick trip up to his dormitory saw him back at the portrait hole, invisibility cloak hidden in one of his pockets, and the Marauder's map in the other. He was attracting several curious looks from his housemates, so as Hermione fretted he ducked out of the door and swung his cloak over his shoulders.

"Opa?" he called gently.

"Here. You really don't need to do this you know." She told him matter of factually, and Harry had to smile as he tried to concentrate on remembering she even existed.

"It wasn't a purely chivalrous action you know." Harry confessed. "I want to find out what the teachers know about the wards dropping." Opa smiled lightly at him but remained silent.

Several minutes passed as they walked together, and Harry found that he had to keep reminding himself that the girl was walking next to him at all. After a particularly bad spell where he had completely forgotten why he was heading towards the Slytherin dorms, he remembered a question that had been bothering him since his conversation on it with Ginny.

"Opa? Why is it that I can see what colour your hair is and Ginny can't?" There followed a silence that seemed to spread between them before Opa finally answered.

"You shouldn't be able to." She said blankly, not answering his question.

"Why not?"

"Only my family can see that level of detail. No one else should be able to. I must have done something wrong…or let a detail go." Harry could almost hear worry creeping into her blank voice.

"Ginny said…" Harry frowned, remembering. "Ginny said it was just strength of will. The Imperius Curse doesn't work properly on me either." Opa simply remained silent, and Harry distinctly wished that he hadn't asked her at all.

She remained silent until they reached the Slytherin common room deep in the dungeons, which was hidden behind a sliding stone wall with the image of a snake carved into the top corner of a brick. Even then Harry only heard her voice murmur the password briefly before she stepped through the now open doorway.

It was with a dawning gloom that Harry realised he was in the middle of the labyrinthine dungeons of the school whilst there was a possible danger lurking just beyond the castle walls. With a shiver, he began to walk back the way he had come, unfurling the Marauder's map on the way.

Sighing inwardly, he reminded himself to read up on mapmaking and update the thing. Removing his wand, he jotted a quick note to himself on the back of his hand before turning his full attention to the map.

Aside from one stray student entering the Ravenclaw common room, the school was conspicuously empty. Unfolding more of the parchment, he examined the corridors around him. They seemed empty, but…_there_. A dot labelled Severus Snape was winding his way through the dungeons towards the entrance hall. If he hurried, he might be able to catch up with him.

Casting a rushed silencing spell around himself, he jogged down the corridor, twisting and turning where the map dictated. The stone passages were dark, but thankfully they were dry and the occasional torch shed some light on the surroundings. Even so, Harry found himself wishing that the torches were absent, considering that as soon as his eyes became more accustomed to the dark a torch appeared, blinding him with bright light in the dull shade.

It took him several minutes of twisting and turning before he heard Snape's light footsteps in the distance. Apparently he didn't seem to feel the need to walk completely silently as he did in other parts of the school – it was Slytherin territory after all. A glance at the map showed that he was merely one turn away, and they were nearing the Entrance Hall.

Harry hung back, despite the silencing charm, for although Snape couldn't see through Invisibility Cloaks like the headmaster could, he seemed to have a sixth sense where Harry was concerned.

There was a noticeable change of atmosphere as they emerged from the dark of the dungeons, and Harry made a mental note to ask the founder's portraits if the effect had been intentional. When they reached the Entrance Hall, Harry was half-surprised to find that Snape didn't turn towards the Great Hall, but headed out towards the grounds. Although, on reflection it seemed an obvious choice, since the castle was eerily free of people.

Stepping out of the immense double doors, Harry had to increase his pace to keep up with the long strides of his Potions Professor. He could see his dark, thin frame moving steadily towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Another check of the Marauder's map showed that the majority of the staff was congregated there.

Harry was careful to keep his step in line with the footprints left by previous staff members; it would do him no good to get caught by leaving a separate trail of footprints in the heavy frost. This did mean that it took him several minutes longer to reach the edge of the forest.

Snape had long since disappeared into the fringe of trees, and Harry slowed almost to a full halt as he peered into the darkness between the trunks. The map had shown him that Dumbledore was in the middle of the group of teachers, and Harry had no intention of being seen.

Removing his wand for a second time, he cast as many notice-me-not, silencing and privacy spells around himself as he could remember. With them firmly in place, he began to edge through the trees, once more following the tracks before him.

The shadowed interior of the forest made him shiver. His various escapades between these gnarled trunks came rushing back to him, and he was reminded of McGonagall's warning that being outside the common rooms would be punishment enough. Harry was beginning to feel a rather large sense of apprehension. His more Slytherin side was fighting with his Gryffindor one for supremacy. He should really follow his instincts and leave…but he had come this far already. Surely a few more paces couldn't hurt?

Taking a deep breath, Harry darted onwards. Within a few metres of him the trees thinned into a small natural clearing and a few voices floated over to him. He edged slowly forwards; unconsciously holding his breath as several figures came into view.

Dumbledore stood with his back to him, his colourful robes standing out against the rest of the staff. McGonagall was pursing her lips in an expression that Harry had learnt over the years to mean that she was desperately worried. Trelawney was looking completely out of place in the cold of the outside, as was Madame Pince. Sprout and Flitwick were standing closest to him, and Harry managed to overhear a few words, although he would have preferred to be listening to what Snape was whispering to Dumbledore. However, those were the two out of all the teachers whom Harry really couldn't chance to try and sneak up on.

"-thinks it is something to do with You-Know-Who." Flitwick muttered nervously, wringing his hands a little.

"No wonder. I spoke to Minerva a few days ago, and the wards are practically gone. She and Dumbledore have run checks on them every day since the chills began." Sprout had her brow furrowed, her usually cheerful face creased into a glumness that didn't suit her. Flitwick looked almost hysterical at her words, and wrung his hands even more furiously.

"There is so little known about magical leeching! It hasn't been used since-"

But at that point Harry had stopped listening. Snape was doing something very interesting, having removed a small vial from his pockets that he proceeded to surreptitiously show to Dumbledore. The headmaster nodded sagely before turning his attention to the crowd at large. Harry quickly ducked behind the trunk of his tree, listening with baited breath as the staff fell silent.

"Severus has been kind enough to assist me in procuring Magicus Potentia." He held up a hand to silence the murmurs that arose as he spoke. "I understand your worries. I would not ask for you to do this if it were not entirely necessary. You all know of the risks. Your participation is purely voluntary, though of course, any help is welcomed with utmost thanks."

Harry waited a few moments for the murmurs to die down, before he chanced a peek around the tree. Dumbledore, thankfully was not looking at him, but rather was watching Snape measure out a single drop of the potion with a look of calm on his face. Snape on the other hand, looked a mixture of frustration and worry projected onto a blank mask.

Harry stared as the headmaster levitated the droplet of clear liquid into his mouth and swallowed. He closed his eyes as if in pain, and a slight grimace crossed his face. The moment stretched, and then as if in a trance, he opened his eyes once more. Harry was inordinately thankful for the spells around him in that moment, for he let out a sudden gasp. The headmaster's eyes had become completely white, and an unearthly glow was burning in them.

Evidently some other teachers seemed equally shocked by his transformation, for they too drew in gasps and the conversation drew to a halt, providing Snape with a silent stage for his words.

"Will anyone else be joining us? Because, as you well know, it would not do to keep the headmaster under the influence for too long." He sneered, scanning the faces.

McGonagall was the first to snap out of her shock, and she stepped forwards with a determined look on her face. A single droplet was measured out for her too, and soon she had closed her eyes, wincing with the same expression as Dumbledore had. Harry and the other staff watched with a morbid fascination as she opened her eyes and they too fell into a similar blank whiteness, although the light emitted was not nearly as overpowering as that of Dumbledore's.

There was another long moment, and then several more teachers stepped forwards, the procedure continuing with them. It took only several minutes before all the teachers but Snape and Sebastian Mercury were left. Harry watched them with curiosity.

"You know that this is not my place Severus." Harry blinked surprised, as Snape nodded reluctantly and passed the vial to Mercury. The older man measured a small dose out as the Potions Master had, and Snape hung it in the air for a brief moment, his dark eyes unreadable.

"Leave it for ten minutes at the most. Best to take people like Pomona and Poppy off it first." Mercury nodded slowly, and Snape handed him another vial from the inner pocket of his robes. Then, with a deep breath he levitated the droplet into his mouth and closed his eyes. Like Dumbledore, there was only a slight grimace before he relaxed, and his eyes opened once more, now completely opaque.

Harry couldn't help but gape at them. There was something entirely eerie about seeing almost the entire body of staff standing motionless, not blinking, but staring with glazed eyes into the distance.

Then, as one, they lifted their wands and raised their heads to the sky above them. Harry held his breath as he felt the air around him crackle with power. A tingling ran over his skin, turning rapidly into an uncomfortable needling that felt like it pierced him to his very core.

There was a shudder, and the forest around him seemed to ripple. A rumble ran through the ground, echoing against his ribcage. Harry leant himself fully against the tree, clinging to it with claw like hands. Just when the sharp pain was becoming too much to stand, it stopped, and the mouths of the teachers moved unanimously, although it seemed as if their voices only poured out of Dumbledore's mouth.

The wands exploded with light, white beams stretching into the sky and moulding together. There was a deep booming sound that Harry felt rather than heard, and then the air all around them shook and contorted, power spiralling along a barrier that Harry could only make out for the intense shaking that ripped across it.

Harry thought that the outpour of magic would cease moments after it had started, but it simply carried on and on, the agonising minutes stretching, in which Harry felt as if he had been stripped completely down to nothing, his mind and magic laid bare in the face of the sheer magnitude of power. Mercury seemed to be faring little better, for he had a harsh grip on the tree nearest to him, and his jaw was heavily clenched.

It was in the middle of this steady stream of magic that something horrible happened, and Harry realised with a jolt only a moment before he was taken over by a dreamy daze. He watched raptly as time swirled and slowed about him, the world moving slower than it ever had before. The white-eyed witches and wizards before him seemed to be statues in front of him, barely breathing, and Harry was struck with the thought that the chills had never occurred so close together before.

In the back of his mind, wild white wings unfurled, and there was a lurch in his stomach. It took him a long moment before he noticed that the unearthly light that had previously glowed so brightly in the eyes of the staff before him was fading, till several teachers looked dull and dead. He could barely formulate a thought, but in the distance he heard a voice yell out, and he vaguely concluded that it was his own before the roaring that had been growing in his ears stopped, letting time and the chill speed into the clearing.

There was a visible jolt, and the stream of light stopped as suddenly as it had appeared. Several staff members dropped bonelessly to the ground, whilst others simply swayed or fell to their knees. Mercury stood in shock for a moment, before prizing his feet away from where they had frozen to the hard ground.

Harry let out another coarse shout, before realising that the silencing charms around him would have failed. Throwing caution to the wind, he whipped his cloak from his shoulders and stuffed it into his pockets. Mercury's head had snapped towards him at the sound, but his face became visibly relieved when he saw that it was Harry.

"_Ennervate_ them when they are given the antidote." The older man snapped, and Harry nodded. "The weaker ones will need to be levitated back to the castle."

Harry stood awkwardly; adrenaline burning through his veins as Mercury swiftly removed the antidote and administered it to Poppy Pomfrey. Harry dashed to her side and rolled her over so that she was facing upwards. A whispered _Ennervate_ left her waking with a gasp and her eyes flickered a little, now thankfully their correct colour.

"There were problems Madame Pomfrey, and we need your help." Harry told her hurriedly, watching as her pupils dilated and contracted alarmingly. "Several people collapsed," He thought quickly before continuing, "they are severely ill!" He told her. To his relief, that seemed to do the trick, and she reached a trembling hand for him to pull her into a sitting position.

"The others Harry!" Mercury shouted, and Harry looked up to find Trelawney and Flitwick laying with their eyes the normal colour but lifelessly beside him. He squeezed Pomfrey's hand before moving over to them, uttering twin _Ennervate_ charms. Both remained quite motionless, although their breathing deepened and their eyes closed. Harry felt panic working its way up into his chest. They needed to wake up!

"Leave them." Mercury spoke again, and Harry nodded shakily before turning to Sprout and Sinestra.

A glance back at Poppy saw that she was looking around her weakly, and swaying on her feet. Sprout remained resolutely unconscious, but Sinestra blinked weakly at him, her eyes unfocused.

By the time Harry had made it round to McGonagall, only the deputy head, Poppy, Hooch, Sinestra, Vector and now Snape were awake. Snape had snapped his eyes open immediately, not even requiring a spell to revive him. McGonagall had reacted similarly, and they were now both on their feet, surveying the mess with distant eyes.

"Harry." Once more the Mind Arts professor's voice pulled him out of his shaken stupor and Harry turned to look at him. The older man was gazing at him quite seriously, although he was obviously still quite shocked by what had happened. "Start moving the unconscious back to the Infirmary. They cannot, under any circumstances use magic. If any of them wake, do not allow them to." Harry nodded slowly, and turned back to the unconscious teachers. With a flash of inspiration, Harry pointed his wand towards the school.

"_Accio_ school brooms. _Accio _Firebolt." He murmured, and waited with baited breath. Mercury sent him a piercing gaze, before nodding and turning back to administering the antidote. For some reason he seemed to be leaving Dumbledore till last, which worried Harry.

It was several minutes before the brooms came into view, and Harry stepped forwards to meet them. They soon slowed and hovered before him, and he turned back to the unconscious teachers. Several _Petrificus Totalus_'s and binding spells later, they were all tied quite rigidly to their brooms. Harry mounted his Firebolt and frowned as he tried to remember a spell to tie the brooms to his own.

Mercury's voice cut through his thoughts, performing the spell for him. With a brief nod, Harry took off, rising gently into the freezing air. The slower school brooms trailed after him, but once he was above the treetops he could easily pick up speed and pull them along after him. He kept glancing back, making sure that they were all still on their brooms and wondering with mounting panic how the revived teachers were faring.

It seemed to take an age to arrive at the castle entrance, and Harry glanced at the heavy doors with worry. Another burst of inspiration hit him, and he reached out with his mind for the castle, projecting all his fear and the need to get to the Infirmary into his request.

There was a deep rumble, and the doors slid open. The corridor that Harry was used to seeing had changed, and now it was wider and straighter. He sent a 'thank you' to the building, and was rewarded with a warm glow.

It took him suprisingly little time to reach the infirmary, and Harry supposed that that was because of the castle's reworking. There was simply one long corridor that led directly to the Hospital Wing, with no side doors. The infirmary was the same as always, which somewhat relieved him, and he took no time in untying the unconscious and placing them on the hospital beds.

When that was finished, all he could do was sit back and wait.

---

In the end, he waited for an agonising half an hour before anyone turned up at the Hospital Wing. None of the teachers under his care had awoken, and if anything their breathing had become even shallower. Thus, when Poppy Pomfrey stumbled off her broom in the entrance, Harry felt a genuine sense of relief.

He wasted no time in hurrying over to help her, grasping her shoulder and leading her to her medicine cupboard as instructed. She directed him to remove several potions, drinking three herself. When that was done she shuddered a little before drawing herself up to her full height, eyes hardening.

"Take these and start administering them. I'll deal with the rest." She told him curtly, and Harry scurried to obey her.

He had little resistance from the teachers he was helping, but he watched as their breathing deepened and they relaxed, feeling as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. If anyone could help them, it would be Poppy. Still, the consequences of being discovered for following the teachers hung grimly over his head. He couldn't help thinking that perhaps if he hadn't been there, this wouldn't have happened.

He was just finishing tipping the potions down Trelawny's throat when the doors were flung open once more. Harry's head snapped up to see Mercury holding them open as Snape and McGonagall helped the headmaster through. Something in Harry's throat clenched as he saw the older man. Both the deputy and Potions professor looked terrible, but it was Dumbledore that really sent his heart hammering against his chest.

He had never seen the man looking worse. His skin had faded completely to white and deep shadows hung under his eye sockets. Even his robes seemed to have faded in colour making him look like a ghost. The most terrifying thing however, were his eyes. They had faded from the ethereal white glow that had hung in them but now they looked simply dead, as if a transluecent film had been pulled over them.

A glance at Poppy showed that she was equally shocked at his appearance. However, she wasted no time in preparing a bed and rushing off to get the appropriate potions, muttering under her breath. With Dumbledore placed on the bed, the two other professors seemed to notice Harry standing awkwardly to the side.

"Potter." Snape hissed at him, his dark eyes burning into him and making him swallow nervously.

"Mr Potter! What are you doing outside? You could have been killed!" Harry winced slightly at McGonagall's words, not only because they were true, but because her voice was frighteningly weak.

"I…" He began, before trailing off. Thankfully Mercury took over.

"That is not our concern now though, is it?" He paused until he had the other two teacher's attention. "I for one am immensely glad that Mr Potter has once again discarded the directions of the staff, for if he hadn't I don't doubt that there would have been far more serious conditions than we have now." Harry shifted from foot to foot at the offhanded praise.

"Sir? I…should I get some of the older students to come and help?" He mumbled. Mercury looked at him for a long moment before nodding.

"Make sure that at least one prefect stays to supervise the younger ones."

Harry nodded jerkily before exiting the infirmary, sending a pleading request towards the castle to let him get to the Gryffindor Common room. Sure enough, the long corridor had transformed, and was now far more similar to its usual configuration.

Harry sighed, the adrenaline that had been in his system abandoning him. He had a lot of explaining to do, both to his friends and the teachers, and he wasn't looking forwards to it. With a shrug he set off at a jog down the hallway towards the common room.

---

**Notes:**

An anonymous poster raised an issue last chapter, so this is my reply, of sorts. The story isn't going to move fast – it does pick up pace as the chapters add up, but it's a gradual build up towards the culmination of the story. If I were to go back through it I'd cut around 50,000 words out of it since that is pretty much just filler, but I just don't have the dedication to go back through around 250,000 words or so and try and edit it all out. If perhaps the writing quality and story line were better I'd feel it was worth it, but…well. Harry's emotional and intellectual development is similarly slow. There's nothing in the books to show he's a bright kid with anything more than a streak of damn good luck, so turning him into someone with smarts and quick wits isn't going to happen overnight.

This is really just to say that I'm more than aware of the horrendous flaws in this story, both character-wise and other, but I don't have the time or patience to change them when I could spend it writing other things. If you enjoy the story then you enjoy it, but this isn't by any stretch of the imagination a 'polished piece' or one I'm completely satisfied.

Thanks as always for the reviews and kind words (and criticism),

Dream Red


	16. Mercury and Sleepwalking

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**Chapter Sixteen: Mercury and Sleepwalking**

---

Harry collapsed into a chair. The last few hours had been gruelling to say the least. It had taken him little persuasion to encourage his friends to come with him to the hospital wing to help, but it had been no small effort to locate the other more medically skilled students and bring them with him. The Slytherins especially had been very sceptical about the whole matter.

The time that had passed had been hectic and rushed. Poppy had begun by setting them all to help stabilise the unconscious staff, before instructing them to administer various potions. All that time Harry had been worrying desperately about Dumbledore, but all Poppy would do was tell him was that he was 'going to be all right', and Harry really didn't have the chance to check on him. After all, there was nothing he could do to help, and Poppy was someone who could. Harry could tell that she was quite clearly telling him that he was most definitely not all right at that moment. Snape's acidic insults didn't help either.

So now he was slumped in a chair in the corner of the hospital wing at Poppy's insistence. Feeling both mentally and physically tired, he could feel all of his troubles bearing down on him: He'd messed up asking Opa about him being able to see her, he'd sneaked out of the castle and possibly incurred the second chill of the day, he would have to tell one of the teachers about the way time slowed soon…

"Harry."

He looked up wearily, his eyes focusing on his Mind Arts professor.

"Yes sir?"

"Come with me. We need to talk." Harry nodded and stood, returning Ginny's tentative smile. He hadn't been able to explain the situation properly to his friends before, but had stilled them with the promise that he would when he had the chance.

Mercury led him out of the Hospital Wing and turned towards the staircase that led to the higher areas of the school. The castle seemed to have righted itself after its initial rearrangement, so Harry was sure that they were in for a long walk.

He was not disappointed either. It took them quite awhile to reach the upper sector of the school, and Harry's mounting trepidation was not assuaged by his Professor's silence. His paranoia's surround the Mind Arts professor surfaced once more, as Harry recalled all the things that he had to hide. Surely he wouldn't attempt to read his mind? Hadn't he said something about Snape being a Leglimens as well? He was almost certain that Dumbledore was…

Harry shook himself mentally. Agonising over everyone in the castle reading his mind would not help him stay calm, and it most certainly wasn't productive. He could feel himself both tense and relax as they entered the familiar, elegant vaulted corridors of the upper sector. It was familiar territory because of his forays into Helga's rooms, yet it made him nervous for the same reason.

They passed the Mind Arts classroom, and Harry noted with a glance at the windows that it was beginning to get dark. So much for using daylight hours to their best advantage, he thought. They turned into a small side corridor, and entered through a door reading 'Mind Arts Office'. Mercury passed into the room first, so Harry was allowed to pause and survey the room.

It was a similar atmosphere to that of the Mind Arts classroom, indeed, most of the rooms on the floor. Harry could immediately recognise Helga's hand in the rose wood furnishings. Shelves lined one wall, and an elegant wooden desk sat in front of them. There was one large window in the room, and three chairs, two of which sat in front of the desk, obviously intended for visitors.

Mercury seated himself and waited patiently for Harry to join him. Once Harry too was seated, there was a moment of silence in which Harry tried to collect himself and shut off his mind.

"Relax, Harry." Mercury spoke with a small upturn at the corner of his mouth. "I'd say that your help today more than outweighs your utter disregard for orders." Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"There still remains, however, the question of why you were there in the first place." Harry bit his lip. Whatever the man had said before, he'd been expecting this.

"I…I was curious I suppose." Harry said carefully, not sure of how much he should give away of what he knew. Previous experiences with teachers had taught him caution.

"But?" The older man prompted, and Harry raised his head to regard him. He didn't seem to pose a threat, but then again neither had the fake Moody. Harry decided to take his chances.

"If the teachers won't tell us anything about the primary wards failing from magical leeching then we have to find out for ourselves." Harry said with a determination he didn't wholly feel. To his credit, Mercury did nothing more than raise his eyebrows in surprise.

"I've been warned about you and your friends quite profusely. It does seem that you have a habit to root out information you shouldn't have." Harry could sense the reprimand in the statement, but it was said without malice.

"Voldemort makes a habit of trying to kill me each year. You learn to keep on your toes. Especially around big mysteries that everyone tries to hide." This time Harry could speak with real feeling. He certainly had no love lost between the people who kept important information from him. Mercury's lips merely curved into a smile.

"Indeed." The older man then sighed and leant back in his chair. "I suppose that Dumbledore will not begrudge me indulging your quest for information, considering how much you know already." He paused, eyeing Harry with consideration. "May I ask when you discovered this?"

"The first night we came back." Harry stated briefly, still wary of the man before him. Those dark eyes reminded him far too much of Snape for his liking.

"Well, as you have deduced, the wards are failing. I'm sure you can guess why we haven't informed the student body of this. Hogwarts still remains the safest place for students with the threat of the Dark Lord, but parents would be quick to withdraw their children if they saw the slightest threat upon the school." He raised a hand to rub at his temples.

"I am not sure of the effect that this magical boost will have on the primary wards, but Albus estimated that they would fall by Christmas." He looked at Harry before continuing. "Although, by your lack of surprise I would put forward a guess that you already know this. We have been systematically boosting the wards throughout this term, but they decline at a rate beyond our powers. If the chill hadn't occurred during the ritual we may have been able to boost them substantially, but as it is…" he trailed off, spreading his thin hands in explanation.

"Sir, what was the ritual you used tonight?" Harry asked, thinking back to the eerie faces of the staff and their blank eyes.

"I will tell you, because no doubt you will discover it anyway. Magicus Potentia is a strong potion, used to connect the drinkers to their raw magical power. As you know from my class, both the mind and the wand are channels. The potion removes these obstacles. The light you observed in their eyes is an indication of the magical power the user possesses." Harry nodded; he'd had an inkling that that was the case.

"When many people take the potion, especially if they take it with the intent of helping another and acting as a magical aid, then the powers of those in a certain radius are at the disposal of the first drinker." He looked at Harry carefully. "As you can imagine, the effects of being a magical conduit are extreme."

"That's what happened to Dumbledore." Harry said with dawning comprehension and sick feeling in his stomach. So Dumbledore had had all of the staff's combined power flowing through him…no wonder he had suffered so badly.

"The second chill occurred far sooner than any of us expected. As you may have noticed, there are generally only two a day, although they have been growing in intensity since the beginning of the year. Had it not, we may have been able to sustain the primary wards. We have yet to discover the effect of the chills, but we suspect that we were targeted as an open source of power." Sebastian said gravely. Harry frowned at him.

"You're missing out what is causing this whole mess." Harry said steadily.

"You're a sharp one." The professor commented idly, looking out at the darkening sky. "There have been cases of objects being used to leech power, but none have been recorded since the Amulet of Pyres in Grindelwald's time, and it has remained uncharted since then. To my knowledge, the information to make an object drain magic died with him, but I may be wrong."

There was a moment of silence that stretched between them, in which Harry pondered what his teacher had said. Either they knew just as much as him or Mercury wasn't prepared to tell him anything else.

"Is there anything you wish to tell me?" Harry's head snapped up. Mercury was looking at him with that piercing gaze that he had seen so often on Dumbledore, and his words…the same as Dumbledore had used in his second year. Was that intentional? Harry doubted that the Professor would do anything unintentionally, but then again, how would he have known what Dumbledore asked him? How could he possibly know how those words rang through the past. Harry had known what had happened last time that he'd denied it, but…

"No," said Harry, "there isn't anything Professor."

---

When Harry returned to his dormitory that evening after relaying the day's occurrences to Ginny, Hermione and Ron his head was still buzzing with activity. Mercury had told him in their first lesson that Dumbledore had tested all the teachers with Veritaserum, but for some reason Harry couldn't seem to push his suspicion out of his mind.

_It wasn't Dumbledore who told you that though. He could easily have been lying._ Hissed a sibilant voice in his head. _Who knows what could be conspiring against you…?_

Enough.

It was up to him to keep his suspicions in the realm of reality rather than letting them run amok. Of course he'd had experiences with teachers conspiring to kill him, but this could quite easily be a perfectly innocent teacher trying to help him.

_But then why would he say use those precise words?_

Rubbing his temples, Harry flopped onto his bed and tried to clear his mind. He needed to be organised and calm. He hadn't yet told his friends about what Mercury had said, but he hadn't told them about the parallel between his reply and Riddle's either. Ginny would understand though, he thought.

Taking a deep breath, he set about trying to clear his mind of everything but his mental visualisation, as he had been doing nightly before sleep since the first lesson in Mind Arts. Gradually the soft breaths of those around him and the murmur of voices in the common room below died away leaving a welcoming silence that encompassed him.

The darkness that pressed against him was heavy, but safe and cool. A soft drip sounded in the distance, and Harry's ears perked up. He felt so used to this place that he needn't even open his eyes. He took a step forwards, skirting that rock there, avoiding the area of unevenly sloped stone.

His hand stretched forwards, and he counted down the steps until he reached the cave-in. Three, two, one, _there_. His palm rested against cool stone once more, and Harry could sense the magic and protection he had woven into it. He remembered with a faint smile how his first defence had worked.

Mercury had explained to him later that his initial defence was unconscious magic. Ideally, he had wanted the class to visualise their defences and build them in subconsciously, but planned the weaving of defensive responses and magic into them later. It appeared that Harry had simply used his instincts and added to them without knowing it.

Hissing a greeting to the wall, he began to push his way through it, stone swallowing him and surrounding him. He emerged on the other side with a slight gasp that misted in the air before him. It was always an odd sensation to move through a stone wall.

With a blink, he opened his eyes and stared beyond him. A long stone tunnel stretched before him, twisting and turning with other tunnels branching off from it. He never seemed to be able to get further than this, but the sound of distant dripping drew him on, and his bare feet became acquainted with the rumble of rock and uneven floor as he padded forwards.

There was faint light thrown on his surroundings, but no matter where he looked, Harry found himself unable to determine the source. It allowed him to see where he was going, but little more. He'd stretched out his arm again, and was running his hand along one wall to keep himself steady.

Suddenly his hand encountered empty space, and it felt as if his stomach had dropped away. He had a horrible anticipation that he would not like what waited for him if he ventured down that passageway. There was a jolt, and then Harry felt himself falling into a dreamy daze where he felt content and distant. The sound of crashing water was building in his ears, torrents of it pouring round corners towards him.

He expected it to stop, reaching that crystallised moment it always did, but instead the very air around him rippled, and he felt himself wrapped in a cold that surrounded him so completely that he felt cocooned in it.

"_Come…"_

---

Harry swore. Not only was he freezing cold with his bare feet sticking uncomfortably to the stone floor, but he didn't even appear to be in the Gryffindor tower anymore.

He stared around the shadowed stone corridors with a half-fearful, half-curious look. He felt so disorientated; he might have been here before, but he was so confused he would hardly be able to tell.

He glanced around once more, noting that light seemed to be stronger to his left. He took a chance and padded towards it, trying his hardest not to let his bare feet touch the freezing stone too much. He was rewarded for his efforts, for he came upon a set of open arched windows that looked out over the moonlit grounds.

Harry stood for a moment, simply admiring the beautiful view of the lake stretching out into the distance and shimmering gently, a full moon reflected in its surface. The clouds of the day seemed to have cleared up, leaving a cloudless horizon dotted with stars. It would have been a perfect night for stargazing, but Harry found himself distracted by the pale orb that hung in the velvet of the sky.

There was a brief pang in his chest as he thought of Remus, and how he must be faring. Thinking of him reminded him of his Godfather, who in turn reminded him of his Animagus training. I know what I am! He thought joyfully. He couldn't wait to tell them, but in the meantime…

Something about the architecture reminded Harry of the upper sector, and peering around, he did indeed appear to be high enough in the castle for it to be plausible. But why on earth would he sleep walk here?

With a frown, Harry stepped away from the window and began to walk back in the general direction he assumed the Gryffindor tower was. The school didn't feel half as intimidating up here as it did lower down in levels, but Harry had a sinking feeling that he was being subtly turned in circles.

After five minutes of walking and arriving back at the same window, he sent a wave of deep irritation towards the castle, which in turn remained studiously silent. Muttering about sadistic buildings, Harry started off in a different direction, and this time he seemed to get a better response. The corridors twisted and turned in a manner he was not used to seeing in the upper sector, but each time he made to turn in a different direction he felt himself deterred. Finally, he ended up in a shady corridor that he knew quite well.

"Sorry about all that, dear." Harry blinked, then smiled at Helga's portrait. "But when we knew you were roaming around anyway we thought we'd give you a little push to come visit us. Maybe you can explain all these goings on."

Harry _was_ feeling quite tired, but he knew from experience that he probably wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight anyway. It wouldn't do him any harm to visit them, except for having to explain to whomever saw him first why he was wandering around in only pyjama bottoms.

The portrait swung to the side, and Harry gratefully stepped into the warm room. It seemed that the chills didn't have an effect at all here, and with the fire burning merrily in the hearth and a cup of coffee laid out for him already, Harry wasn't about to question it to thoroughly.

He wasted no time in sitting down on the comfortable sofa and helping himself to the hot drink. A glance at the portrait that hung above the fireplace saw that both Helga and Rowena were sitting at a table, drinking similar cups of tea and coffee.

"Right. You need to bring us up to speed young man," Helga told him mock-sternly. Harry groaned and threw his hands up.

"Where to begin! First of all, there are these chills going on, with magic leeched from the castle. Dumbledore says the primary wards are going to be down before Christmas, so they tried to do a ritual using Magicus Potentia, which most likely failed because a chill came in the middle and nearly killed half the staff. Then Professor Mercury drags me off, and tells me about the ritual and the wards, but completely spooks me out by quoting something Dumbledore said to both me and Tom Riddle in private that he couldn't possibly know." Harry sighed heavily as he drew to the end of his outpour and looked at them.

"On top of all that, I seem to be sleep walking on a regular basis, and today I ended up even further than I'd been before. I mean, it's one thing to explain what you're doing in the common room, it's another to try and tell your teacher why you've slept walked out into the library or corridors or something. Besides that I can't even remember my dreams properly!" Harry grumbled.

There was a long silence between them, and Harry watched the Founder's reactions carefully. Both seemed far less surprised than they should have.

"The reason you're up here, is because we encouraged the castle to direct you towards us, rather than let you go somewhere else whilst you were asleep. It may not be as bad as you think," Helga informed him.

"We do, however, have something to confess to you Harry," Rowena told him softly. "Something like this happened in our time, although never to this extent. Mild magical leeching has been a common thing throughout Hogwarts history, but generally the wards need only be boosted every decade or so."

"Dumbledore must think it quite a dire situation to be reinforcing them to such an extent now," Helga mused. Harry just stared at them in shock.

"This happened _before?_" He exclaimed, burying his head in his hands. "Ugh. This is all like one of those bad dreams. First Mercury is quoting Dumbledore, now you're telling me it's all happened before," He looked blearily up at them. "Tell me this isn't just some surreal re-hash of my second year?"

Helga chuckled and Rowena smirked down at him.

"I assure you that it isn't," she told him.

"You look tired," Rowena said, noting the dark smudges beneath his eyes. "Have you considered a Dreamless Sleep potion?"

"Who am I going to get it from? Pomfrey? She'll want to know why…" Harry grumbled. "Not bloody likely," he sighed. "And no, I haven't considered it. I'll be fine; I've dealt with worse than this before." Rowena frowned at his response.

"I may have some Dreamless Sleep in one of my cupboards…but if not, I'd be happy to oversee your brewing of it," she told him with a wistful smile. Harry's head snapped towards her. If Rowena taught him, maybe he'd be able to do better in Potions. After all, the subject had appealed to him on some levels, if not for the teacher, and he could admit to himself that being able to brew a few of the more useful potions would be worthwhile.

"Rowena?" he asked. "Would you be able to help me with Potions? It's just…well, you know I don't get on with Snape, but I wish I was actually able to brew something that didn't explode or fail," he smiled wryly. "At least it would stop me having to go to the Hospital Wing each time I'm forced to test my potion."

Rowena observed him carefully. Harry was beginning to recognise this as a habit of hers when she was thinking of something. Instead of becoming unfocused and looking around she would look at him intently, in a manner that reminded him mildly of Hermione.

"Well, I haven't had a student in about a thousand years…" Harry grinned. Rowena never seemed to answer with a direct 'yes' or 'no', but this was as good as an agreement.

"Thank you," said Harry, before falling into thought. After a moment he spoke up again. "You said these chills happened before? Can you feel them? Why don't they affect these rooms?" Helga chuckled lightly at his flurry of questions.

"I'll let you answer these dear," she told Rowena.

"Yes, they have happened before. Mind you, we worked out a plausible reason between us," she told him. "It was only some time after the castle was completed that a study came out showing the gradual decay of magic over the years. Of course, it has many factors, such as the power of the caster and the size of the building, but there is a definite decline."

"She took it upon herself to spearhead the investigation into the castle's defences," Helga cut in.

"Hogwarts is essentially held together with magic, and as you know is mildly sentient. Since it is sentient, it has the power to drain the natural magic of the surroundings if the innate magic reaches a critical level, although that has never happened before," she explained.

"Now, since we four were considered some of the most powerful witches and wizards of our time, our magic will never truly die away. It does though, as I have told you, decline. The rate of decline is in direct correlation to the size of the building and the amount of people in it. An undisturbed shack in a deserted area could last far longer than a castle filled with people. The magic performed within the walls, and the sheer presence of so many different magical beings puts a strain on the magic we used, as it has naturally evolved and changed over time."

"The solution to this is that roughly once every decade the current headmaster and the teaching staff rally together and boost the wards and magic of the school over a period of about six weeks. This serves to acclimatise the older spells to the types of magic being used, and it is effectively assimilated into the castle as a whole. Do you understand?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "I think so. Basically magic starts to decline when it becomes at odds with the newer magic around it." Helga nodded.

"Exactly."

"I haven't heard of this before. Magic can evolve?" he asked, curious. Rowena smiled a little.

"The same way that animals evolve. A mutation here passed onto another here, and magic is changed. That's why there are so many variations these days. Initially we used the school Houses to sort those with similar personality traits, and thus those with similar magic." Harry blinked at that revelation.

"That means I'm balanced between Gryffindor and Slytherin magically too?" he asked, incredulous. The parselmouth trait would certainly explain that.

"Very good." Rowena noted. "Of course, the Sorting Hat was created so that it evolves with the changes in magic over time…"

"I remember you mentioning that you were researching family ties," Helga added. "That is also why certain magical ties can bind people as family. People with similar magic and a close tie to you are quite easily considered part of your family."

"She's simplifying it a bit of course. Wizarding family ties are tricky things to work out," Rowena mused. Harry responded with a question that had occurred to him.

"What about half-breeds?" Harry asked, thinking of Remus. Helga frowned, but Rowena was quick to answer.

"That complicates things somewhat. In our time half-breeds simply had more trouble establishing the magical tie to their family." Harry nodded in assent, thinking over the things she had said.

"So you think that these chills are just the castle's magic decaying?" he asked, thinking back to the conversation he and Ginny had had on the subject the first day of school. "But that can't be, because decaying magic gives out energy doesn't it?" Rowena inclined her head at him.

"That is what is so worrying about this whole mess," Helga noted, before turning to Rowena. "The spells could always be malfunctioning of course."

Rowena's brow furrowed in thought. "No, that isn't it. We'd feel it if it were."

"Then it's something leeching magic isn't it? If the castle is semi-sentient then couldn't it pinpoint where the thing that's sucking the magic out is?" Harry asked, but the founders were already shaking their heads.

"The castle can't really find things that aren't part of it. The staff are; they have an initiation ceremony when they begin teaching here. Naturally the current headmaster or headmistress is too. The students are, simply by dint of being taught here – they acclimatise to the magic of the school and accept it. But their belongings - especially inanimate ones, are completely untraceable. It's a pity, because it sounds more and more like that's the case."

"Sorry kid," Helga added. She knew more than Rowena how much Harry found himself worrying about Voldemort and his friends safety now that the Dark Lord had returned. Harry sighed, ignoring Rowena's curious stare and looking at Helga.

"I just hoped that you might know something about how to stop it all before it got out of hand."

---

**Notes:** _Magicus Potentia _literally means 'magic power'. Used the Latin Dictionary and Grammar Aid (http // archives . nd . edu / latgramm . htm).

As always, thanks for the reviews and kind words. Sorry if there are delays in coming days – my internet connection has been a little…temperamental. Otherwise, next chapter should be up in three days or so.

Dream Red


	17. Changing Water to Wine

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**Chapter Seventeen: Changing Water to Wine**

---

It was in the early hours of the morning that Harry finally retreated to the Gryffindor Tower. He had enlisted the castle's help once more, and both Rowena and Helga had promised to try and keep any prowling teachers at bay. It was only when he had woken a very disgruntled portrait of the Fat Lady – "where _have_ you been all night!" – and entered the common room that he realised that he had once again forgotten to broach the topic of his friends visiting the Founder's rooms.

Harry wasted no time in sprinting up the stairs to his dormitory. He entered the bathroom hopefully, and a few heating charms later he was indulging in a warm shower, which eased his aching muscles from a night of wandering around freezing corridors.

None of his dorm mates were awake when he returned, and Harry padded gently to the foot of his bed. It looked like he might have to wait until the Christmas holidays to get a decent trunk, as the first Hogsmeade visit was meant to be the following weekend, but Harry had doubts about whether they would be allowed to go, considering the escorting teacher's conditions. With a pang he remembered their unconscious faces, and Dumbledore's odd blank eyes.

Shaking the images from his head he undid the various protections on the trunk and rummaged through it for his clothes. He picked out a light grey shirt in cotton and a pair of darker grey trousers. Casting a mirror spell, he once again sent a mental thank-you to the Sprite sisters.

Noting that snow had fallen during the evening, he put back the plain black dragonhide boots he was about to pull on and opted for the insulated pair. Rummaging around in the piles of belongings uncovered his previously forgotten Gloves and Scarf of Smoke. He stuffed them in his pockets in case he found himself outside and cold.

In one of his quests into the library he had recently found a very handy charm that he'd wasted no time in applying to his clothes. It was useful in that it prevented items that he had inside his pockets from falling out whilst he was walking, meaning he'd never have to worry about dropping his Invisibility Cloak or map.

Picking up his books for the day, he put them in his pockets as well before fastening his cloak with the brass lion cloak pin. He'd become rather fond if it, and usually picked it in preference to the Basilisk one. In his opinion, the sleek silver snake could wait until formal occasions while the slightly battered lion was used on a daily basis.

After a little deliberation, he picked up his book on lucky charms and stuffed it into his pocket as well. Now more than ever it appeared that they would need luck. Harry wondered if there would even be any lessons today, since half the teachers were unconscious.

Casting another glance around the room and its sleeping occupants, Harry headed down the stairs towards the Great Hall. He gave a greeting to the sleepy Fat Lady, and any other portraits that were awake on his way.

Harry had a pleasant, peaceful feeling as he walked, as if the castle were just as asleep as the rest of its inhabitants. Checking his pocket watch he saw that it was once again around six in the morning. He estimated that he must have woken from his sleepwalking at about four, as he hadn't spent that long talking to the Founders.

He noted that the house elves hadn't even begun to set the tables. It was still dark outside, and Harry was rather depressed at the feeling that it was still nighttime.

A call for one of the house elves saw him soon sitting dazedly over his second cup of coffee and a few slices of toast and jam. Several warming charms later he began to eat his food, ignoring the apologetic cries of the house elf that there was no way for them to warm the food before nine these days.

Taking another bite of his toast, Harry opened the book on charms at his bookmark and continued to read. So far he had covered the basic principles of making them: The lucky charms were only possible to create effectively if one tied an emotion and intent in with the relatively simple spells. The stronger the emotion, the stronger the charm. Because of this, the name 'lucky charms' was rather redundant, as it was quite possible to create 'unlucky charms' too.

To make a truly brilliant Luck charm, the creator would ideally soak the object in a dose of Felix Felicis. Harry observed this one carefully. A high quality lucky charm would certainly be helpful, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to brew the potion correctly, especially under Snape's tutelage. From what he'd heard, it was one of the most complicated potions there was. However, perhaps if Rowena helped him…

Flipping to the next page, he saw the details for another charm. The book covered a variety of lucky charms and how to make them, ranging from simple to difficult. At the end there was an entire section on engineering your own. Absently he lifted a hand to finger the claw charm that Ginny had made for him. He really ought to give her one in return. Glancing down at the page below him he let a smile cross his face. It was perfect.

---

There were worryingly few staff attending the meal, but McGonagall stood and announced that the teachers present would be carrying on their lessons as normal, and for those that were absent, fifth years and down would be minded by Filch. Senior students were expected to use the time to study.

When breakfast ended, Harry had almost finished work on his gift for Ginny. He had tried the spells out on various things ranging from his toast to his coffee cup, but eventually he had perfected it. All he needed now was to find something suitable to cast it on.

However, the bell rang for lessons, and dodging Ginny's inquisitive gaze he made his way to his Transfiguration lesson.

They had finished their lessons on Human Transfiguration, and Harry could now change the colour of his fingernails and hair at will. Instead, they were starting on Liquid Transfigurations. Taking his customary place beside Hermione, he listened to her customary introduction to the new topic.

"Oh, this is so exciting! I've heard that liquid transfigurations are some of the hardest beside gaseous transfigurations!" She babbled, but was cut off from explaining more by McGonagall's entry. Their head of house wasted no time in assuming her stance before the class and beginning the lesson.

"Everyone here? Good," she said, sweeping her gaze across the room. "Today, we will be beginning Liquid Transfigurations. You may not have noticed, but until now you have only been changing solids to solids, or a mixture of solids and liquids to solids. Animals are a mixture of all three states, but you have been taught to primarily view them as solids."

"Liquids are some of the most difficult to change, as are the Gaseous transfigurations, because they are far less stable than solids and do not react in the same way. It will, no doubt, take you all some time to master this skill." A flick of her wand made a goblet filled with water appear on each desk. "Today, we will be transfiguring water into pumpkin juice."

After she had gone over the appropriate wand motions and theory behind it, she called out for them to begin. Hermione looked desperate to prove that she would be one of the first ones to master the technique and dove in straight away. Ron looked far less sure of himself, and kept shooting Harry incredulous looks, clearly stating that he had no idea of what to do.

Harry peered down at his goblet. It appeared to be silver, which Harry had learnt earlier in the year was one of the metals least affected by magic, along with several other precious metals. It appeared to work in a similar way to the Muggle assumptions about reactivity.

Frowning and peering once around the class, he noted the frustrated stares of his peers. Even Hermione looked perplexed. Drawing his wand, Harry thought back to McGonagall's words – "Imagine your spell as fluid, working with the change rather than forcing it as you do with Solid Transfigurations." Harry tried to imagine his magic flowing into the spell, and waved his wand in the motion shown.

Nothing happened.

Not daunted, Harry tried again, relaxing and trying not to push the spell too hard. Again, nothing happened. Harry tried several more times, and each time failed. He was beginning to become frustrated, and Ron's mutterings of 'oh, so we're supposed to try and think like water are we?' didn't help.

With another swish of his wand, Harry tried again, irritation mounting. Glaring at the still and untroubled water, he growled out a few insults before trying again.

"Stupid, bloody-"

A gasp escaped his lips. His water had certainly changed, but it was definitely not filled with pumpkin juice. Instead, there was a dark red substance that looked suspiciously like-

"Blood." Harry looked up into McGonagall's marginally widened eyes. She tore her gaze away from the goblet and looked at him sharply. "That was definitely not the assignment Mr Potter." Harry winced. "How did you come to do this?"

"I…" Harry trailed off, aware that the rest of the class was regarding him with mixed suspicion and curiosity. "I was getting irritated, and I insulted the goblet."

"And what, exactly, did you say?" she asked. Harry blushed a little.

"I was going to say 'stupid, bloody thing' but I sort of stopped at 'bloody' because it had changed." Harry cringed a little as McGonagall raised on brow.

"Indeed." With a swish of her wand the goblet of blood had returned to water. "Continue, and if you feel at all dizzy or light-headed, please tell me immediately." Harry nodded sheepishly, noticing how the rest class was staring at him. He remembered quite vividly that the wizarding world seemed to have a bit of a thing about blood, and to have done his first liquid transfiguration into it…well.

However, Harry was beginning to get an inkling of how to do liquid transfigurations. Turning to his goblet, he concentrated as hard as he could on pumpkin juice. Then, holding the image in his mind, he twirled his wand and said 'pumpkin juice'.

The liquid in his goblet promptly turned bright orange, and once more he found McGonagall looking down at him, only this time she wore a slight smile.

"Ten points to Gryffindor Mr Potter. But next time, try and do it without speaking," she told him, and Harry blushed under the relatively lavish praise from her.

Nodding in response he cast a glance around the rest of the room. It seemed that no one else had managed to change their water, not even Hermione, who was alternately waving her wand with furious precision and shooting him irritated looks. Ron in turn was shooting him hopeful glances, but Harry pretended not to notice, and turned back to his goblet of water instead.

His first few silent attempts merely turned the water a pale yellow colour, but as the lesson neared the end, he was accurately transfiguring his water without any problems, earning him another ten points from McGonagall. Harry felt vaguely relieved when Hermione became the second person to succeed in the transfiguration, and oddly enough, it was Neville who was the next.

He was feeling a little dizzy as the period drew to an end, and McGonagall promptly told him to sit down and entertain himself until the end of the class, where if he still felt dizzy he should visit Madame Pomfrey.

It was when Harry was dazedly contemplating his goblet that it occurred. His mind drifted to the first transfiguration and the production of blood. His hands rested on the desk, and his sleeve had fallen back to reveal the deep scar on his wrist. Memories of that fateful night when Voldemort had risen drifted unbidden into his mind. If only he'd been able to fight back. If he'd known how to do wandless magic then he might have been able to retaliate, but he hadn't been able to do anything. Besides, how would he fight back anyway? It wasn't as if he knew many violent spells and he desperately wanted to hurt both Wormtail and Voldemort.

Something clicked. If he could transfigure something into blood, couldn't it work the other way around? He knew enough about Muggle biology to know how harmful it would be to have all of someone's blood replaced with something like alcohol. They would automatically assume that it was some kind of curse too, and try to counter it. But of course, it would be too late for them when the realised that he'd transfigured their very blood, if they ever did. But would he be able to transfigure something he couldn't even see with such precision?

Shaking his head, Harry tried to order these morbid thoughts. He knew that none of his friends would really approve of his musings, particularly Ron and Hermione.

_But I need a way to fight back._

Unforgiveables were traced immediately, and he knew full well that even the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't be able to get away with them. _Especially the Boy-Who-Lived_, a voice in his head murmured. He'd have to defeat that madman and his followers some day.

Harry frowned a little. This shouldn't be something to get into other people's hands, particularly somebody like Voldemort's. _He might already know._ Still, it could easily be used as a form of torture or death. With a sigh, Harry stowed his idea away for experimentation at a later date.

"Harry!" Blinking, Harry looked around.

"What is it Hermione?"

"The lesson finished a few minutes ago."

"Oh," Harry replied. "You two go ahead, I want to ask McGonagall something."

Hermione nodded, a slightly worried look on her face, but she pulled Ron away with her. Harry in turning saw that the room lay empty, and only McGonagall remained, eyeing him curiously. Sweeping his books into his pockets, he walked up to her desk where she regarded him over her rectangular glasses.

"Do you still feel light-headed?" she inquired.

"No, ma'am," Harry replied before adding curiously, "Er, why would I have felt dizzy in the first place?"

McGonagall pursed her lips as she looked at him. "Liquid Transfigurations require a lot of energy. That you transformed it into blood, one of the most powerful substances in the wizarding world, would have been quite the power drain."

"Ah," Harry said. "Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you a question."

"Please do."

"Well…is it possible to transfigure things you can't see?" He asked. "Like…if I knew there was a cup behind me, but I couldn't turn and see it?"

"It is a topic we will be covering later this year. Is there a reason Mr Potter?" Harry gulped a little as he considered telling her but decided to settle for middle ground.

"I…I was thinking. If I got attacked, then I might be hit with a blinding spell. I know that they use them."

McGonagall didn't have to ask who 'they' were. Death Eater attacks had increased at a gradual rate since Voldemort's return, despite the Prophet not admitting it, and one of their old favourites to use on victims was a spell that temporarily blinded them before they could properly retaliate. The Order members had made sure to inform all related people of their favourite spells. When she heard this, her face softened considerably, and she looked at him with sad eyes, making Harry feel bad about deceiving her of his real reason.

"When we begin the topic Mr Potter, I will make sure that you are proficient at it." Harry sent her a thankful smile and hurried from the classroom, still feeling guilty for his deception.

---

The rest of the day passed with relative ease, although he was still nervous around Professor Mercury in his Mind Arts class. They had worked on strengthening their mental barriers through the lesson as they worked on their Occlumency. Mercury informed them that they would begin meditation sessions after the Christmas break, which would help with their progress, and the concentration of any of those thinking of taking apparition.

Potions had been stressful, and although Snape hadn't questioned him on his appearance at the Ritual the day before, he was certainly taking it out on him. Mercury must have been pretty persuasive to stop Snape from keeping him behind and ranting at him.

Since Flitwick was absent still, when Harry turned out of the Potions classroom door he immediately headed towards the library to meet Ginny and Opa in their usual haunt.

He was halfway there when he felt a chill coming on. Time slowed, the students around him moving sluggishly. The onset of what he had now dubbed 'the Daze' was immediate, and Harry had the feeling of walking on clouds. The rush of water sounded in the distance, building and growing closer. He could almost hear the direction it was coming from, and he turned slowly to look towards the staircase behind him.

There was the unmistakable crash of a wave as it hit a stone wall, coming closer and closer, turning corners. He began to drift towards the staircase, walking up the steps and watching inquisitively as another far below him began to move. Then, just as it had done in the dream, the sound didn't reach a crescendo and stop, but rushed past him in a deep wave of cold, wrapping around him entirely.

It was as if his brain had been shut down to the barest essentials. If he thought he'd been distant before, he now processed only what travelled the long way through his cocoon of cold. He watched dispassionately as his legs began moving, taking the stairs two at a time. He took a left turn, then a right and another right. He could feel himself growing closer now, and he noted that his feet were splashing through shallow water.

Myrtle must have flooded the bathroom again.

Harry snapped out of his trance-like state. He was on the second floor, near the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. His mind instantly ran through the possibilities. Could the chills be something to do with Salazar Slytherin? His portrait must be around somewhere mustn't it? Maybe this was a plot of Voldemort's, after all both Malfoys had been incredibly interested in the Chamber…

Blinking furiously, Harry immediately turned away from the abandoned girl's bathroom and headed into the library. When he finally arrived he was still feeling flustered. Everything seemed to be going wrong around him at the moment.

"Harry. Calm down." Ginny's voice cut through his thoughts, and he promptly drew up a chair and sat. It appeared that Opa hadn't turned up yet, and Harry felt a jolt in his stomach as he remembered how she had remained so silent when he'd asked her about being able to see her. Still, he would persevere.

It was only when he took a seat and drew a deep breath that he noticed that the books around him had been rattling. He must have not been controlling his magic enough…

"So what's the problem? You were obviously bothered by something," she said.

Harry sighed, but wasted no time in telling her everything from his dreams to the ritual he had been fortunate enough to witness. Harry was somewhat surprised however, when she grasped his hand in hers and lifted his chin to look at her.

"Cousin dearest, you need to stop being so paranoid. Cautious, yes, you have a right to be cautious, what with a powerful madman out for your head, but if you carry on like this you'll end up like Mad-eye Moody."

"I know. I just feel like something horrible is mounting up behind my back." Harry admitted. Ginny sent him a wry smile.

"That's what I'm here for coz. If something is about to stab you in the back, I'll tell you." Harry mirrored her smile gratefully.

"Thanks. But I hope you mean that in the metaphorical sense." Ginny's face split into a grin.

"Of course."

There was a moment of comfortable silence in which Harry thought over what she'd said. He'd be fine, as long as he remembered that there were people there who would help him, if only he would remember to ask. And talking of remembering, he had something to give her.

Rummaging in one of his pockets, he fished out the charm he'd been working on. He'd managed to finish it in the free period he'd had between Mind Arts and Potions, and his Transfiguration lesson had given him an idea.

Opening his palm, he brought it before Ginny's face. In the centre of his hand sat a crystal teardrop no bigger than his thumbnail, attached to a small hoop. Ginny's breath caught a little in her throat as she stared down at it. Harry felt his lips curl up at the edges.

"I followed your book. I figured that since you made me a lucky charm, I should return the favour," he said with a smile. Ginny simply looked at him with wide eyes.

"It's for me?" Harry nodded, and she picked it up, turning it this way and that. "What does it do?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair a little nervously. "Well, I wanted to make something that would protect you, but I couldn't figure out the spells. So I made a friendship charm instead. If you get sad or down it'll show you everything I put into it. It was the best I could do at the moment," he said, a little embarrassed, but Ginny had already launched herself across the table and enveloped him in a hug.

---

Much later, when Harry was sitting in Rowena's library browsing a book on Animagus transformation, his thoughts returned to what he was doing near the second floor abandoned bathroom.

"Rowena?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think it's wise to search for Salazar's portrait?" Harry asked, frowning a little. Rowena responded with one of her own.

"I was wondering when you would ask that." She sighed, sitting on her favourite place by the painted stream. "Yes, I do. Salazar may be difficult at times, but he would not hurt anyone in the school who didn't deserve it."

"It depends on how he classifies 'deserve'," Harry scowled.

"He won't harm anyone who does not pose a direct threat to the castle or the students," she said, regarding him carefully. "There are certain things that are not possible for us to do unless all four portraits are in their rightful places. Besides, we didn't spend the majority of our young lives with him without learning a few ways to keep him at bay."

Harry had to grin a little at that, although he wasn't completely enamoured of the idea that the infamous Slytherin would have access to the castle's magic. Burying his suspicions for now, he flipped over another page in his book, examining the illustration of failed transformations with a morbid fascination.

"Have the house elves told you or Helga anything more about him?" He asked.

"Neither they, nor the portraits have any idea of his whereabouts. It looks like you'll have to prowl around the second floor until you find him." At Harry's resigned sigh she continued. "At least that narrows it down a little hmm?"

"I suppose." He said.

"Have you begun your potion for the animagus transformation yet?" she asked, indicating the open book.

"No, not yet. I have this feeling about what I'm going to be, but I haven't got further than that," he said a little distantly, still thinking of the way those white wings had unfurled in the back of his mind.

"What are you?" Rowena asked curiously.

"I don't quite know. All I have is this _feeling_ of what it's going to be. I know for sure is that I have white wings." He told her, and watched as her face broke into a smile.

"It's nice to know there's another bird animagus in the school." Harry looked at her inquisitively.

"Who is the other one?" he inquired, causing Rowena to laugh a little.

"Me, naturally. Why else do you think we have those animals as our house symbols?" Harry simply stared a moment before breaking out into a genuine laugh.

"I guess I always just assumed that it was a personal obsession. Are all of you Animagi?"

"Yes. A snake, a lion, a badger and an eagle. Not the best combination of personalities, I'll grant you, but balanced nonetheless. That's really how we got our surnames. Four friends drawn together by our skills as Animagi. It was Godric who started calling me Ravenclaw." She smiled wistfully. "And Salazar who thought up the one Gryffindor."

Harry felt his breath hitch a little as he listened to her speak; there was such an obvious parallel between them and his father's friends.

"When we left our mentor, we took them on as our surnames." She glanced at Harry, and he was sure her eyes were a little wider and glittery than before. "It was a habit in those days to Obliviate all knowledge of a witch or wizard's previous surname when they completed their apprenticeship and took on their new life. Education wasn't very organised in the wizarding world then."

"My father and his friends did something similar to what you did. Moony is a werewolf, so to help them, my father - Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail became unregistered Animagi."

Rowena sent him one of the most open and unguarded looks he'd seen on her face, and he had to refrain from gaping at the mesh of emotions there.

"It's good to see the tradition continue."

---


	18. Meeting Hufflepuff

---

**Chapter Eighteen: Meeting Hufflepuff**

---

The light streaming through the glass, domed roof had long dimmed, and now all that was illuminated was the gentle falling of snow before it melted. Harry had lit a nearby lamp, and was ensconced in a large armchair, reading quite peacefully.

Turning the page, he let a smile cross his face before closing the book. Rowena had directed him to the clearest and most concise book on Animagi in her library and it hadn't taken him long to finish it. Removing his watch from his pocket, Harry saw that it was only ten in the evening, and he still had plenty of time before tiredness would force him back to his bed.

Standing, he yawned and stretched, before heading to the shelves and replacing the book. Both Rowena and he had been quiet since their conversation, deeply immersed in thought and memory.

The dark haired founder had obviously been recalling a bittersweet memory, for although she had been smiling, her eyes were sad. Harry guessed that the happy times they'd had were overshadowed by the arguments that had eventually split the four apart.

For Harry himself, it was a similar mixture of joy and sadness. His father was dead, and Wormtail had been the one to betray them, similarly ripping their little group apart. Padfoot was still considered a criminal, and Moony was plagued by his monthly transformations, yet in the middle of all that was the memory of happier times.

Peering around the darkened room, Harry tucked his hands into his pockets and began to walk around it once more, surveying all the interesting possessions and curiosities. Not for the first time, Harry wondered where Rowena had slept and, as always, concluded that she either had a room hidden, or she simply transfigured herself a bed.

Reaching the potions brewing section, he was struck by how complex the subject must be to warrant so many tools. When he had spoken to the founder, she had assured him that only about a fifth of them were necessary to make an adequate potion, and the others were simply used for fine-tuning.

"Admiring the potions section once more I see." Harry turned to find Rowena watching him with a smile – one that he returned easily.

"Of course."

"If you need somewhere private to work, or any help with the Animagus potion then don't hesitate to ask me," she told him.

"Thank you," Harry replied, a smile coming across his features.

"You really should get some sleep. You look terrible," she informed him. Harry grinned wearily.

He did look increasingly bad as the days went on. He had been getting just enough sleep to manage with before he had started sleep walking, but now it felt as if he was merely perpetuating a permanent state of low energy. His skin had become very pale, more so than usual, and his mop of black hair only accentuated that fact. Purple smudges hung under his eyes, and he felt increasingly distracted. In fact, it was only in his dreams that he felt the slightest sense of restfulness.

Harry rather agreed with her, and made his way towards the door, pulling his invisibility cloak around his shoulders. However, something occurred to him before he left.

"Rowena? I've been meaning to ask you something," he took a deep breath to settle his thoughts. "I'd be grateful if my friends could visit here sometime. I know Hermione would bear you an eternal debt for access to your library if she could."

The founder's face remained quite blank for a moment, before her lips curled up. "Another thing I was wondering when you were going to ask. I will, of course, allow them access, but I have a condition. They will only be allowed in here with you, and they must leave when you do."

Harry blushed at the unspoken admission of her trust for him, and thanked her graciously before leaving. The Christmas holidays it seemed were going to be fun.

---

When the first day of the holidays rolled round, Harry was practically bursting with excitement. They had so much to do! Not only would he be introducing his friends to Helga's rooms, but he would also be visiting all the public wizarding places Ginny knew about. All of the staff besides Dumbledore was back in their lessons after that incident. However, there was still the little problem of getting a Floo pass from McGonagall, which was why he was standing at the door to her office while his friends were busy saying goodbye to their classmates.

Raising his hand and mustering his confidence, he knocked loudly on the door. There was a moment of silence, in which Harry became far better acquainted with the sight of the wooden door, before a voice rang out and the door opened.

Harry stepped cautiously over the threshold, peering around McGonagall's office. He had only been in here a few times, and none of them had been particularly pleasant. Still, he could appreciate the pleasant atmosphere of the place, filled as it was with quiet beady-eyed birds and animals.

"Mr Potter. Please, have a seat," she offered, and Harry obliged by sitting in the proffered chair before her desk. "Now, how can I help you?"

"Professor, I heard that sixth years were permitted to obtain Floo passes from their head of house," Harry stated. Really, there was no sense in beating around the bush. McGonagall eyed him slowly before nodding.

"I see no reason why you couldn't be given one, yes." Harry bit his lip. Ginny had warned him that this was the difficult bit.

"I was wondering if I might take someone else with me," he said tentatively, watching as his head of house snapped scrutinised him.

"Who was it that you had in mind?"

"Ginny Weasley, professor," Harry replied as politely as he could. The silence between them stretched, until she replied,

"You will need to get her parent's permission, of course." Harry breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.

"Ginny owled them yesterday and they agreed, as long as we take care."

"Then I see no reason why you should not," she sent him a brief smile. "Have a Merry Christmas Mr Potter."

"You too professor," Harry replied with a matching smile before accepting his signed pass and heading to the door to tell Ginny.

---

Ginny didn't wait to envelop him in a hug when he returned bearing a wide grin and the two passes. When she'd finally let him go and they'd taken their seats in the comfortable armchairs by the fire Harry examined his pass.

It was a small plain white rectangle of parchment in the same green ink and pretty cursive that all official Hogwarts documents seemed to be. At the top it said 'Harry Potter', and below was a small paragraph of writing that Harry wasted no time in reading.

'_Harry Potter is given permission by his head of house and thus the school of Hogwarts to take up to five days leave between the hours of seven AM and seven PM and visit areas not within the Hogwarts influence. By visiting places outside the Hogwarts influence, the student becomes responsible for himself and those with him, and any accidents or mishaps that occur are of no responsibility to the school. Leaving before or returning after the designated times without a valid cause will result in the revoking of this Floo Pass and any other punishment deemed suitable. As over the summer holidays, students are not allowed to perform magic._

_This is an honour, please treat it like one._'

Below that was the neat signature of Professor McGonagall. Looking up, Harry was just in time to see Ginny finish reading her one. Gesturing for them to swap, he exchanged their passes and began to read hers.

'_Ginerva Weasley is given permission to accompany one Harry Potter for the designated time he is allowed to leave the school of Hogwarts. Whilst outside the castle the student is in the care of the other. Any mishaps that occur are the responsibility of the elder student. If the guest does not return at the designated times, or strays from the elder student without valid cause, then their pass will be revoked and a suitable punishment will be found._

_This is an honour, please treat it like one.'_

Ginny's pass appeared very much like his own, although there were three signatures at the end: those of his head of house and the two of her parents.

"When shall we go?" Harry looked up at her from her pass.

"Whenever you like, I suppose."

"How about now?" Ginny asked, and Harry had to smile at her spontaneity.

"Well, we have five days to use. Where are we going to visit?"

"Checker Square is first, then Dreamwood Market, then Mercury Avenue. Dreamwood Market might take a whole day, because Dreamwood Forest is a nice place to walk around too. It's a popular place to pick potions ingredients because the plants grow so well there," Ginny told him enthusiastically.

"Why don't we visit tomorrow? Then we'll have the whole day," said Harry, watching as Ginny's face fell. "I promise that I'll show you something exciting today to make up for it, cousin dearest."

The result was instantaneous, as her expression changed from disappointed to sly. Not for the first time, Harry wondered if she was in the right House.

"Are you going to introduce me to your midnight sweetheart?" Harry blushed and laughed.

"I told you already, there is no sweetheart. But I will introduce you to someone." He said with a grin. Ginny sent him a mock-suspicious look, but it was undermined by her smile.

"All right then," she said, getting to her feet. "Lead the way."

---

It was only when they reached the entrance to the senior sector that they had problems. Harry had completely forgotten about the age barrier, and not only was Ginny unable to see the door, but it refused to budge for her.

After several moments of struggling, Harry gave up and fell back to the floor. He had managed to rebound off the door when he'd attempted to dismantle the wards with surprising force. He stood thinking for several minutes as Ginny's face fell further and further, even though she tried to hide her disappointment.

Then, Harry had a burst of inspiration. Reaching out to the castle, he pushed forward his desire to let Ginny through. Grabbing her hand, he made for the door, and for a moment it seemed that it was going to work. The air around them rippled, and they slowed to halt before being thrown back.

"Damn it!" Harry cursed, kicking the door. "If only we could get someone to let you…" he trailed off, his eyes going distant as he thought.

"Harry?" Ginny questioned.

"I'll be just a second. I need to get someone's help," he said before jogging off. "Wait there!"

It took only a short amount of time for Harry to sprint to the entrance to Helga's rooms, because he didn't have to slow to a walk as he usually did when students were around.

When he arrived, Helga was already peering curiously down the hall, and greeted him with a wave and a grin.

"Trying to bring your friends I see," she exclaimed, before adding an explanation at Harry's quizzical look. "I felt you demanding access from the castle."

"Yes! I wanted to bring Ginny," Harry said. "I think you'll like her. But the castle can't change the wards!"

Helga chuckled a little at his obvious impatience before replying. "That's because the headmaster overrides you in the scheme of things." Harry growled a low insult to the man, which Helga certainly didn't object to. "But, as you have probably guessed, I rather outweigh the headmaster, even if I am just a portrait. Go back and get your friend. I'll take care of the rest."

Harry's face split into a joyful smile, and he jogged back along the corridor yelling back an agreement when Helga called after him to put Ginny under the cloak. When Harry arrived back at the hidden door to the senior sector, Ginny was staring at it in surprise.

"What did you do?" she asked, with no little amount of awe in her voice.

"Well, it wasn't me that did it," he sent her a wry grin. "Let's just say I have powerful friends."

"I'll bet…to override the headmaster's spells…" she trailed off, and after checking either way down the corridor, Harry pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"Just in case," he added.

They both took deep breaths as they stepped over the threshold, but nothing happened, and after closing the door behind them, they headed down the corridor. Harry could tell from Ginny's voice as they talked that she was looking around at the elegant décor with wide eyes, a similar reaction to his own, for the upper sector was such a different design to the rest of the building.

Although he was bursting to show her Helga and the rooms, he felt it his duty to first introduce the upper sector library to her. Ginny spent several minutes gasping over the selection of books and the delicate carvings on the shelves of each section in a manner that would have done Hermione proud.

When he finally managed to drag her away, he found her distracted by the beautifully crafted Mind Arts classroom only a few corridors away.

"I wish _I_ had lessons up here," she exclaimed. "It's almost worth doing Mind Arts just to see this classroom!"

"It's worth doing Mind Arts anyway, but I don't trust Mercury not to figure you out, so lets hurry up," Harry told her quickly, wasting no time in moving her out of the room.

Even with his verbal prodding, it still took them far longer than he'd expected to reach Helga's corridor. Ginny didn't even notice her portrait at first, but at Harry's words of 'we're here' she threw the cloak off her head and dashed to the windows to stare out across the grounds and the spectacular view.

"Oh, it's so beautiful up here!" Harry laughed.

"I never had you down for someone who'd say that, but yes, I suppose it is." He agreed, joining her at the window. Ginny stood relaxed, her eyes bright beside him, but she nearly jumped out of her skin when another voice floated over them.

"That is why I chose this corridor," Helga said, and Harry could hear the laughter in her voice. Ginny promptly twirled round and whipped her head and shoulders back under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Gin, Gin, it's ok," Harry laughed, gently tugging the cloak from her shoulders and turning her towards the portrait. "Meet Helga Hufflepuff."

Ginny stood and gaped at her for a long moment, taking in the tall woman perched elegantly on a chair.

Finally, she let out a long breath and said, "You really weren't kidding when you said you had friends in high places then." This elicited a laugh from Helga, who smiled slyly at Harry.

"And you weren't kidding when you said I'd like this one." She swung gently aside, and Harry pushed Ginny through the threshold and into the stunning room. He had no doubt that if she found the outside beautiful, she'd find this room stunning.

Sure enough, she let out a loud gasp and stood for several minutes looking around at the golden colour and rosewood furniture. She spent a great deal of time exclaiming over the things she found, and was completely lost for words when she found the greenhouse-in-a-box.

Due to all this, she managed to win Helga over in the first half an hour, and it was not long before they were sitting before the fire, Ginny with her legs pulled up to her chest, and Harry sprawled lazy with a hand trailing one arm of the sofa.

"So, where will you be visiting tomorrow?" Helga asked, directing her question at Ginny, who was still looking up at her with excited eyes. Harry wondered vaguely if he'd reacted like that towards Helga at first.

"Checker Square," Ginny stated promptly, and Helga nodded approvingly.

"I heard that one of the Grey's built it," she said thoughtfully.

"Oh yes. I researched it after we first learnt about the Grey's. It was built by a man called Abiatha Cricklesby Grey. He was absolutely mad of course," Ginny told her enthusiastically. "He was born with a birthmark that looked like a bit of a checker board pattern, and as he reached middle age he became obsessed with the pattern. He invested wildly in Patchwork Chess Company, built Checker Square and set up the annual chess competitions for the current masters."

"You've certainly done your research, young lady," Helga said, looking at her with raised brows. Harry snickered a little at this, but Ginny ignored him.

"The Grey's have become a bit of an obsession of my own," she confessed. Helga looked at her sharply.

"Really." Harry sent her a curious look, but she seemed unwilling to explain further. Tired of sitting, Harry decided to continue his perusal of the room. So far he had spent most of his time working with the plants in the greenhouse or chatting with Helga, but now seemed as good a time as any to have another look around.

Informing the other two of what he was doing, he left Helga answering Ginny's multitude of questions. Starting with the shelves he had originally intended to explore, he turned to his right and began looking them over systematically.

There were a variety of personal items there, including the signet ring of Hufflepuff. Hadn't she had any family? Placing the ring back on the shelf he moved along a little. There was a small journal filled with pressed flowers that Harry looked through reverently. They had to be at least a thousand years old! He would definitely have to ask her about the preservation spells she had used on them.

Harry had picked up the journal to look through it, but underneath he spotted another, so when he had finished inspecting it he set it gently to the side and lifted the black leather book beneath it.

Harry couldn't restrain a gasp when he opened it. Inside were some of the finest sketches he had ever seen. There was a charcoal drawing on the first page depicting a badger with an inscription below that read 'For you, dear Hufflepuff, who only comes out at night'. Gently turning the page, he came across two other images, one of a proud, but weatherworn lion with the words 'Of course, Gryffindor was never more than a battered old cat'.

On the opposite page was an eagle in flight, with the same elegant hand reading 'If Ravenclaw flies on the wings of knowledge, I suspect that she was born with her flight feathers'.

However, the greatest shock came when he turned the next page, and saw the image of a sleek, black viper curling across it. The words below read out, 'For once, Slytherin's bite is worse than his bark.'

"Quite stunning aren't they?" Harry was jerked away from the transfixing images by Helga's voice, which had assumed a studiously blank tone.

"They're beautiful," he responded in awe.

"Dear Salazar always did have a hand for art," she told him, making Harry blink and wonder if he'd heard right.

"Slytherin did these?" he asked, peering once more at the elegant sketches and the words below.

"He gave me that book for my thirtieth birthday. There's an inscription in the front, but Salazar was up to his old tricks when he wrote it." Harry looked at her confused, and turned back to the inside of the cover.

Sure enough, there was something written there, in an almost unnoticed black hand against the dark grey of the inner cover. However, when Harry squinted he realised that it was in another language. However, it wasn't in a language he was unfamiliar with.

"Parseltongue," he murmured.

"Can you read it?" Ginny asked quietly, and Harry realised that she was staring at the sketches with equal awe.

"Maybe," Harry said doubtfully. "I haven't been learning to read parseltongue for that long."

Turning back to the book, he looked at the curling black script and ran the parseltongue alphabet through his head. Of course, this would be in Slytherin's own variant of the language, but it was worth a try."

"As…a memory…of…better times…than this, and no…doubt the…hard times that…await, I…grant you…Helga, my…most…treasured…sketches, for I…know you…will…take the best…care of them," Harry said disjointedly. "He has signed it too," Harry added, turning to look up at Helga.

He found himself shocked to see a few gentle tears trickling down her cheeks. She was simply standing, staring at the book in Harry's hands, and no doubt remembering her past. Finally she tore her eyes away from it, and sent the two of them a quavering smile.

"T-thank you Harry. I'll just be a m-moment. Look through the rest of it if you like." With that she had left the portrait dabbing her eyes, and Harry turned to look at Ginny nervously.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have read it out to her," he said doubtfully. "It can only stir up old wounds." Ginny sent him a sad smile.

"I think it was worth it." She tugged his sleeve and led him towards the sofa. "Let's look at the rest of these pictures."

Harry sat, resting the book between them, and turned the pages to where he'd stopped the last time so that Ginny could look at the sketches. They certainly were captivating, and Harry wondered whether there was a kind of magic he'd woven into the drawings. It certainly felt like it.

Opposite the drawing of the snake was another that he hadn't properly examined. It looked as if it had been done in inks rather than charcoal, and it depicted the head and shoulders of a dark haired man. His hair fell in a heavy fringe around his eyes, shadowing some of the most detailed and piercing irises Harry had ever seen. Despite there being a lack of colour in the image, it by no means dulled the effect.

High cheekbones and slightly hollow cheeks leant the face a haunted look, as if the man had seen his fair share of conflict. Yet in the eyes was a secrecy too, and they hinted at hidden treasures buried beneath the unmoving countenance. The lips were curled slightly at one side, and there was a half-smirk drifting across the face. Below ran another few words.

'_Self portraits are the hardest, yet most rewarding things. You always did become infuriated with this face._'

Harry looked at the picture of Slytherin with no small hint of wonder. So this was the face of the monster? This relatively young man was the cause of all the torment? The creator of the Chamber of Secrets? He certainly looked capable, but Harry still found himself somewhat bemused. After a moment, however, it made itself clear. It was because the portrait painted him in some semblance of humanity that it pulled the metaphorical rug from under Harry's feet.

A glance at Ginny showed that she was thinking along the same lines as he had been, but she nodded and he turned the page once more. Before them were two portraits he knew well: those of Helga and Rowena, but as Ginny hadn't yet observed Rowena at any great length, Harry held the page for her. Helga's portrait had a touch of green and brown added for her clothes, and Rowena's was in similar colours to that of her portrait.

Despite having seen their portraits before, Harry found himself still fascinated. These pictures showed them as younger, and gave him a different angle on the Founders.

Although he knew whom to expect as he turned the page, it didn't stop him from drawing in a breath of surprise. Not only was he looking on the face of his house Founder, but if he had thought the last pictures had skilful use of colour, this one went beyond all expectations. Beside him Ginny was having a similar reaction, and he didn't blame her.

The page was alive with colour. A golden mane of hair that curled a little at the ends fell to the man's shoulders, framing a long face and heavy lidded eyes that reminded him of nothing more than his feline counterpart. The other founders may have resembled their Animagus form in personality, but Gryffindor seemed to be a lion inside and out.

---

**Notes:** Sorry for the late update, I've been in Geneva for three days, and I've been having problems with my Internet connection again, not to mention a variety of irritating RL things. Hopefully these two chapters will make up for the delay.

As always, thanks for the reviews and support, I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Dream Red


	19. Checker Square

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**Chapter Nineteen: Checker Square**

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The morning dawned bright and early finding Harry seated at the window slowly rubbing his temples. He had woken standing uncomfortably at the edge of a frozen puddle leaking from Myrtle's bathroom. He and Ginny had arrived back at the common room late, so thankfully they didn't have to field questions from Ron and Hermione.

Harry had gone straight to sleep, burying himself in a pile of bedclothes and warming charms. However, he had once more found himself following that alluring voice. He had a few sneaking suspicions as to what it might be, but every time he tried to place them and figure out the mystery he was thwarted and pushed away from the answer, leaving him growling in frustration.

So, when he had finally found his way back to his rooms he had taken out the mapmaking book Remus had bought him and settled in front of the still sleeping landscape below.

Mapmaking, it seemed, was a lot more complicated than he'd expected. The book was helpful and concise, but it didn't stop him having to reread its creamy pages several times. He was starting to get an idea of just how much work the Marauders had put into the map, especially since making maps of magical and changeable places was one of the hardest things to do.

By the time the sun was beginning to rise, Harry had learnt a good deal more about the intricate spells to do with mapmaking, and had created a test piece that showed the room he was in, equipped with moving dots that represented each dorm member, although he hadn't managed to label them yet.

Snapping the cover shut with a soft thump, he made his way over to his trunk and dismantled the enchantments. That was one of the first things he was going to get – a well-protected trunk. Placing the book back in, he rummaged around until he found the clothes he was looking for. He pulled out his white cloak of smoke, a copper coloured shirt, and some dark grey trousers, laying them out on his bed whilst he went for a shower.

When he made his way down to the common room he found Ginny already there, peering inquisitively at the notice board. Readjusting his Scarf of Smoke, he made his way over to her and looked over her shoulder, causing her to jump a little and grin at him.

'_Students travelling with Floo passes must only leave the castle between the hours of 7 AM and 7 PM. Please report to the school's Floo to the left of the Great Hall.'_

Harry frowned. He had never heard of there being a public Floo in Hogwarts, but it made sense after all. How else did people get into the castle with such ease? With a shrug, he tugged on Ginny's arm and they began to walk towards the Great Hall.

Harry had wasted no effort in packing things for the day, and he was enormously glad of the feather-weight charms on his pockets, considering he was carrying his cloak, their lunch, a very large bag of galleons, a quill, a bottle of ink, a few of his schoolbooks, a watch, and his gloves. No doubt he would be carrying even more when they returned.

As it turned out, Ginny knew the way to the Floo portal, having used it with her family to visit Hogwarts after Ron's first year and their experience with the Philosopher's Stone. They made their way down at a leisurely pace, with Harry greeting the portraits – 'Good day young sir!' - and introducing Ginny to them – 'ah, a beautiful lady friend…' – and soon enough they had reached a small arched doorway.

Ginny stepped confidently through, walking into the tiny room and stopping by the large fireplace nestled tightly into one wall. However, this fireplace had a red barrier around it that made Harry feel nervous. Still, it became clear to him as Ginny removed her Floo Pass and pressed it against the barrier, which promptly turned green.

"Just like the tube really," Harry noted, but brushed off Ginny's confused look; he wasn't about to explain the concept of the London Underground to her.

Raising his own pass he pressed it to the barrier, which had switched back to red, feeling an odd tingle run through him before it turned green and he could step through.

"Look! Over there!" Ginny said, tugging his hand and pointing to a ledger on the wall beside them. Squinting, Harry noticed that their names had come up on it, with Ginny as Harry's guest and charge.

"Huh, scary. I wonder how many wards like that there are around the castle?" he mumbled.

Ginny shrugged. "Well, are you ready to go?"

"Wait a second," Harry told her, removing his wand. Since they were both still technically underage, he would have to cast his spells here.

A quick mirror charm brought up his reflection, and he eyed himself critically. He was thin and pale, his eyes a dark green. One glamour later, his eyes had been changed to a dark grey, making him seem far less pale by comparison. Rummaging in his pockets he pulled out a torn piece of parchment and carefully transfigured it into a skin coloured paste. It didn't take him long to apply it to his scar, and a drying and sticking charm later he let his curtain of hair fall back over his face.

"Wow," Ginny breathed, looking him over carefully. "You really do look different Harry."

"In public, we are Tom and Merry Grey, remember?" Harry grinned at her, and she replied with one of her own, before casting another mirror charm.

He watched, curious, as she concentrated. Her bright red hair darkened to deep velvet red, and he realised that she was doing Human Transfiguration, something she shouldn't have learnt for another year. He couldn't help but gaping. When she turned back, he realised that her eyes had turned a similar grey to his own.

"When did you learn to do Human Transfiguration?" Harry said, still gaping a little. Ginny just smirked at him.

"Having six older brothers has its advantages sometimes. Plus, Hermione was so desperate to tell me all about it that I couldn't really sit back and not try it after all." Not for the first time, Harry looked at the younger witch with a bit of wonder. There were so many things he didn't know about her!

"Ready then?" he asked, stepping up to the pot on the mantelpiece and grabbing a hand of floo powder.

"Of course. Try not to end up somewhere you shouldn't this time," she teased, but Harry just sent her an impish smile and stepped into the dusty grate. Taking a deep breath, he said, 'Checker Square' loud and clear, and dropping the floo powder, he was off in a whirl of green flames.

---

Harry stumbled out of the grate in a rush of soot and dizziness. He still couldn't stand flooing, and was looking forward to the Apparition lessons like nothing else. He had been told in their last Mind Arts class that they began after the Christmas holidays.

Blinking furiously to clear his watering eyes of ash, he looked around the room. He was standing in a small, oblong, white-walled room with a bench along one side. An open door led enticingly out onto a cobbled street, and Harry found himself peering through the gap in it.

Turning, he paused to look at the fireplace, waiting hopefully for Ginny to appear. However, as he turned, he caught sight of his previously clean white cloak of smoke, which was now covered in soot.

Grumbling, he shrugged it from his shoulders and shook it out. Ash came off it in clouds, but when he donned it once more, it was as clean as it had ever been. There were definitely some benefits in having a cloak made of smoke.

Green flames flared in the grate, startling him, and he took an instinctive step away, which turned out to be for the best when Ginny appeared in a cloud of soot. Obviously public Floos weren't that well maintained.

"Hey," Harry said, helping Ginny regain her balance. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Floo just isn't the most dignified mode of transport," she said, brushing off her robes and straightening up. "Well, shall we?" Harry leant her his arm, which she took, and together they stepped out onto the small cobbled street.

The road before them was narrow, with slightly crooked buildings rising around it. Turning his head, Harry noticed that the sign above the doorway they had just exited read 'Public Floo Entrance'. The buildings around them reminded him a little of those in Knockturne Alley, but they seemed to have simply grown that way, rather than being built with a deliberate air of menace.

The sky promised a clear day, but it was still slightly cold, and a light mist hung in the air. With a shiver, Harry removed his gloves and pulled them on, noting with satisfaction that Ginny was wearing both gloves and a scarf. It wouldn't do for her to wander around freezing cold.

Ginny hesitated only a moment before turning to the left and leading them past several still closed shops and houses. Looking up, Harry saw one witch levitating out a line of clothes to dry. They turned to their left on the first off-shooting road, heading towards what Harry assumed to be the square.

Despite it only being early morning, there were quite a few people around setting up small stalls or opening shop doors. Harry noted a small shop he liked the look of that sold a vast variety of fudge as one to visit later. Right now, though, they needed breakfast.

"Is there somewhere to get food?" Harry asked, and Ginny paused to think.

"I haven't been here in awhile, but Mum's always raving about this food shop. What's it called? Crumples? Crumble…ah ha! Crumbles Café and Store. That's it," she exclaimed, speeding up and turning the next corner.

The sight that greeted Harry's eyes took his breath away. Before him lay what looked like nothing more than a giant chessboard, each slab of black or white stone about a metre and half long. The shops that lined the square were not like those on the back streets. Instead, they were bright and cheery, many of them outlandish colours, whilst others restricted themselves to brightly coloured signs, leaving the shop fronts the customary black and white.

A whole variety of names and slogans assaulted his eyes, and even though most of them were closed or only just opening, their wares were laid out in the window in such a way as to grab the eye and hold it. Harry felt the same rush of excitement and wonder that he'd felt when he'd first entered Diagon Alley.

"Wow," he breathed, and the air before him misted slightly with his exhalation. Ginny shot him a delighted smile.

"I thought you'd like it," she made a sweeping gesture with one arm. "Welcome to the wizarding world, cousin."

It didn't take them long to locate Crumbles Café and Store, a large golden coloured shop that boasted a variety of cakes and breads, as well as a full English breakfast. Pulling out his watch, Harry checked the time (7:20) and was relieved to see that the shop was already open.

Holding the door open for Ginny, Harry strode in afterwards, looking in wonder around the large room and breathing deep the smell of bread. From the ceiling hung massive bunches of herbs that reminded him of Hagrid's cottage, only these were ones that he would probably be able to eat. There was an entire wall filled with books on all manners of subjects from picking the right pan to making the perfect cake. More shelves ranged into the back of the room, holding all manner of wizarding cooking ingredients. Some of them were similar to Muggle ones (after all, why wouldn't Wizards use flour and sugar?) but others he recognised with a horrible jolt from Potions.

There was a pale marble counter to the left of the entrance, and one half of it was covered in flour, a tall man kneading bread dough at it. Harry watched with fascination as he flicked it into the air with a swish of his wand, and promptly dusted it thoroughly with flour before dropping it back to the surface.

Turning to the ceiling once more, Harry noted the vast range of pans and cooking paraphernalia. Once he got his own house, Harry decided he would come here to buy his cooking equipment.

"Can I help you young sir, ma'am?" Harry turned, his eyes still glowing at the sights in the shop. He'd grown fond of cooking over the years, for as stressful as it was doing it for the Dursleys, it offered him a time to indulge in simply concentrating on the task at hand.

"We were wondering if the café is open yet," Harry replied politely, and the man sent him a smile.

"My daughter is just setting up the tables now. Go through that door and I'm sure she'll be more than happy to help."

Harry thanked the man, and dragging Ginny away from the odd measuring equipment she was examining, he opened the green door to the right of him and walked down three steps into the next room.

Unsurprisingly, the floor was done in black and white tiles, with a pleasant cream colour on the walls. There were a large number of glass tables with chairs stacked on them, and a pair of French doors led out onto the square that promised to be opened once the weather became less bitterly cold.

Harry turned and followed Ginny up to another marble counter, this time quite free of flour, and addressed the plump young witch standing behind it.

"Hello? We were told you might be able to fix us up with some breakfast," said Ginny with a smile.

"Right you are. Take a seat and I'll be with you in a moment," the older witch replied, levitating a pair of chairs off of the table and setting them on the floor.

Harry took his seat next to the window; peering intently outside and watching as the shops around them slowly unfurled and opened like flowers revealing their wares. He was distracted momentarily as the waitress asked for his order, and he assured Ginny that she should have whatever he liked, because he would foot the bill. In the end he settled on his customary coffee and a full English breakfast, whilst Ginny ordered French bread and a mocha.

"Aren't the Prophet offices based around here?" Harry asked, frowning as he tried to remember.

"I think so," Ginny said hesitantly. "I've only been there once, with Dad when he needed to have them do a correction to an article."

"Perhaps we could visit them later," Harry suggested, but elaborated at Ginny's confused look. "I was thinking a lot over the summer, and with all the awful articles they print about me it seems that it's about time I try and get controlling shares, or at least some. I may as well be making money off their wild tales." Ginny blinked.

"I suppose that makes sense. But can you afford it?" she asked, a little nervously.

"Well, I have all that money sitting in the bank. I may as well do something about it, right?" Harry proposed, watching carefully as Ginny thought.

"Well, it could be a good idea. But you have to think about the ramifications," she said, looking at him carefully. "Will people trust the paper if you get to dictate what goes into the Prophet?"

"How do you know that somebody else doesn't have the controlling shares already? I wouldn't put it past someone like Fudge. I mean the man may be a moron, but he's tricky when he wants to be."

"I suppose," she said again, staring thoughtfully out the window.

"You don't think it's a good idea?" Harry asked.

"No, I do. I definitely do. But you need to weigh up your options first," she said carefully, looking at him with large grey eyes. "All I'm saying is don't rush into something without checking around first."

Harry smiled at her. "I won't, I promise," he said, as he glanced once more over the square. "Actually, I was thinking about a lot of things over the summer. The wizarding world is going to have to change. If Fudge won't admit that Voldemort is back, then we're in for a world of trouble. That's part of the reason I was thinking about this thing with the Prophet."

"True. But we haven't exactly seen many attacks from him recently have we?" she pointed out. "And that just plays straight into Fudge's hand."

"I know. I've been agonising about what to do about it for awhile. I mean, if Mr-I'm-The-Most-Evil-Dark-Lord-Of-All-Time isn't attacking, then he's planning something," Harry said glumly. "Which means he either wants to stay hidden and drag my name through the mud for the moment, or he's planning something big. Either way, it's bad."

Harry repressed a shudder as he thought back to the man he had seen returned to life only the previous year. He could remember the way the black smoke from the cauldron had obscured him, and he had risen from it looking like nothing more than an all terrifying Dementor. Somehow it seemed fitting that the first thing he'd assumed to rise from the cauldron was the personification of evil in the wizarding world.

"Ok, discard what I said before. You need to get the Prophet or at least another popular wizarding newspaper on your side. The Quibbler is great, but it isn't exactly widely selling," Ginny said, her eyes narrowed in thought. "You know, Helga might be able to help."

"She might. I'll have to ask-" Harry paused, cut off by the tinkle of a bell as the door to the other section of the shop opened.

Harry couldn't help but blink in surprise. In through the door stepped Lucius and Draco Malfoy, who both looked at him with equally bemused expressions. Lucius was dressed in his customary intimidating black attire, and Harry was struck with the thought that the man might not even own clothes in another colour. His thoughts were interrupted by Draco's voice ringing across the room.

"I don't think I want to eat here anymore, father," he pronounced, looking at the two of them with a curled lip. Harry merely raised a brow at them. He'd faced down the Dark Lord; surely Draco didn't think his insults would get to him anymore. Lucius however, looked a little exasperated at his son's words.

"It is time that you learn my Dragon, that we can eat where we choose, no matter what…other customers the place caters for."

Harry blinked. He hadn't heard the older man reprimand his son so openly before. However, he was distracted as he noticed that Lucius was carrying his customary cane. With a smirk on his lips he hissed a low greeting to the metal snake, and was rewarded with a reply, and another exasperated look on the older man's face.

"Potter, please refrain from further damaging any more of my personal property," he cut in. Harry couldn't help but grin.

"I'm not sure who you are referring to, sir. You must have me mistaken for someone else."

With that, he turned back to Ginny, who he noticed was wearing a similar smirk. He knew that a favourite hobby of hers was winding up the Malfoy family, however unwise it may be.

Thankfully the waitress came out carrying their food, and after setting it down she turned to the Malfoy's a proceeded to seat them, suspiciously close to where Harry and Ginny themselves sat. Draco made a disgruntled face at this, but the elder Malfoy's pale eyes had lit up in a way that Harry found rather disconcerting. So, to dispel his anxiety he simply shrugged and returned to his conversation.

"As I was saying, I'll have to ask her, but I think you might be on to something. At least it will curb that drivel the spout," Harry said, taking a sip of his coffee and smirking at Ginny over the top of his drink.

"Oh yes," she continued, catching on. "I mean really. How can the Ministry deny first hand reports of known Death Eaters?"

Harry could have kissed her, but instead resigned himself to simply smiling; his eyes sparkling with unshed laughter as the pair seated to their left tensed.

"I suppose that Azkaban would be difficult to keep them in, if the Dementors rally to Voldemort's side."

"Yes, that will be a problem. But didn't I read in a place we visited recently that there were ways to dispel the creatures?" Harry took the hint: one of the Founders could surely help them in that department.

"Besides, there are other ways to keep prisoners in one place that in no way violate the rights of the prisoners, which, I'll tell you, aren't much. I heard the Draught of Living Death was going to be implemented," he guessed, remembering Snape's favourite jibe.

"Quite. But this isn't entirely proper conversation for the dinner table Tom," Ginny told him in her best pureblood voice.

"Of course, cousin," Harry relented, having played with the Malfoys quite enough for the moment. "Where are we going to visit?"

"We could start with the bookshops I suppose," Ginny said thoughtfully as she took a dainty bite of her breakfast.

"That sounds good. This place has several specialist bookshops, doesn't it?"

"Yes. They mostly centre around games, because that's what the whole place is about, but I think there's one on creation magic. We should have checked the date for the annual chess competition and come then really." Harry looked at her curiously.

"Every year around Christmas time, they clear the square and hold the chess competitions. You know McGonagall's giant chess set? Well, I'd bet you anything that that is where she got the idea." Harry looked out over the scenery once again, with more consideration this time.

"Do you think there's anywhere that specialises in secrecy?" he asked the question that had been plaguing his mind for some time. In the corner of his eye he saw Draco cock his head slightly to the side. Massaging his temples he continued. "Merlin knows we need it, although I'd settle for privacy." He stressed the last word, and was satisfied to see the elder Malfoy shoot his son a _look_.

"We can have a look around. I suggest that that is another thing for you to ask our recent friend." Harry caught the double meaning. Both Opa and the Founders might have something to offer.

They spent the next half an hour finishing their meal and chatting over more mundane things, before they had finally finished their plates and paid the bill. Harry stood, and turning his attention to the two blonde men he spoke.

"You wouldn't happen to know the way to the offices of the Prophet would you?" Harry asked, startling them out of their conversation.

"And why would you want to visit their offices?" Lucius purred, and Harry raised a brow.

"That's really none of your business is it?" he pointed out. "Now, do you or don't you know?"

"Across the square, on a street named Paper Lane. If you are quite done disturbing our breakfast?" The older man scowled, and Harry inclined his head in thanks before offering his arm to Ginny and exiting the store.

It didn't take them long to locate a bookstore that was open, and Harry was soon immersed completely in the dusty tomes around him. The store was not particularly neat, in any respect, but it did stock a large number of interesting volumes. Harry found himself particularly fascinated by the section on Creation Magic.

The title was a bit of a misnomer, considering that Creation Magic was more to do with the craftsmanship that went into wizarding art, music and sculpture. However, he did manage to find a thick tome dealing with the original Creation Magic rather than its modern counterpart. After reading the introduction, Harry grasped that the principle of the subject was not creating something out of nothing, but performing feats of magic that _appeared_ to create something out of nothing.

In essence, any wizard powerful enough could transfigure air into a sword, but few even knew where to begin. In a similar fashion, it was possible to locate objects on different plains or realms and 'pull' them into this one. Harry was dubious about the amount of power needed, but added it to his pile anyway.

He found another book on the subject that specialised in demon summoning and trickery, and remembering his conversation with Ginny on the topic, he picked that up too.

Harry browsed several books detailing the rules of chess and other games, as well as one on the charms governing them and another on the creation of the board and the pieces. Harry mused that a handmade game might be a nice Christmas present.

He paid for his books and a few of Ginny's – 'remember, this is for your birthday cousin' – and left the shop. The store had proved rather selective in it's range of tomes, but Harry soon located another even more dusty shop that had a much wider selection.

Here he found a book on the origins of the magic behind that in games played in the present. Many games, it turned out, had originated as strategy models for battles. There was also a small sect of wizards who specialised in the type of magic called Puzzle Magic that went into games, involving a complex mesh of spells that could be applied to other things with varying and interesting effects. The wizards in this sect were aptly named Puzzlers, for their deception and trickery.

Harry was immensely pleased when Ginny brought him a book titled 'Parseltongue: An Introduction to Other Reptilian Dialects'. As it turned out, the skilled parselmouth could, with time and patience, learn to speak to reptiles other than snakes. There were even records of a rare few that could speak to dragons. Harry found himself wishing he'd been able to do that in the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Unfortunately neither of them could find very much more than that in the shop that they wanted to read, and so they abandoned their search in preference to visiting Patchwork's Chess Pieces.

---

Harry had learnt a little about Patchworks from Ron during his spectacular defeats at chess, but he was completely blown away by the place when he entered. They had obviously picked up on the theme of black and white, for their logo depicted four chess squares, and the inside was done up similarly to the square itself, with overlarge pieces playing out a game against one another a corner of the room.

He purchased Hermione a book entitled 'A Guide to Beating Your Brilliant Chess Playing Friend at His Own Game' and paid for them whilst Ginny perused the selection of trinkets the store boasted.

They soon left, turning to a tiny crooked little shop that was veritably jammed full of weird items. The sign outside proclaimed it to be 'Eerie Items', and it certainly fit the description.

Shelves lined the walls so tightly that it was only with difficulty that a person could walk the length of the shop without having to squeeze past something or other. There were boards for games, but they were unlike anything Harry had ever seen before. There was something that could have been a chessboard, but the squares looked as if they had been twisted and warped wildly out of shape, and looking at it for too long made his eyes water.

There were games that professed to be brilliant for those skilled in the Mind Arts, and out of curiosity Harry took the pieces down and rested them on the counter for him to pay for. The woman who ran the store reminded him oddly of Trelawney which, he supposed, was something to do with the way she peered through her thick glasses at him.

The object that really caught his eye was a scramble of floating pieces of wood. They looked a little like a jigsaw puzzle, but each piece was inscribed with an odd rune or shape. The label below said that they were a traditional practice instrument for wandless magic. Intrigued, Harry got the woman at the counter to add them to his pile of purchases.

"Finished, young man?" the woman at the counter inquired, peering at him through her magnifying spectacles. "Hmm?"

"Er…yes, thank you," Harry said, a little unnerved by her.

Hurriedly shrinking his purchases, he headed out of the shop with Ginny in tow, mulling over the odd little place and its owner. However, he quickly forgot it as he buried himself and Ginny in trailing around the stores.

They spent until around lunch browsing the stores and admiring the place. So far they had only tackled the shops that lined the square, but Ginny promised him that they would wander the nearby streets afterwards. Checker Square, as it turned out, was surrounded by a good deal of wizarding houses and hotels, and the place was packed as the annual chess championships drew nearer.

They made their way back to Crumbles Café and Store for lunch, greeted cheerfully by the same man who was now serving a gaggle of shoppers rather than kneading bread.

"Ginny? I want to look for a Christmas present for your parents. Do you think you could help me?" asked Harry as he surveyed the large shop once more. Ginny sent him a surprised look, but replied anyway.

"Of course," Harry smiled, and replied to her unasked question.

"They've been sending me presents each year, so it seems only fair I give them something in return," he pronounced, before skirting an excited young witch and her daughter.

Entering the racks of shelves Harry wandered noting the wares. Molly wouldn't have much use for an animated onion peeler as she could do it with her wand. Nor would she want a bread maker, considering how much she preferred making it herself. The items ranged from the practical (enchanted mixing bowls) to the absurd (sculpture your own jelly creations with this handy tool!)

Eventually Harry settled on one Enchanted Mixing bowl that was guaranteed to get the lumps out of certain mixtures, and had a complex weave of spells on it to keep certain things warm, others cold, and chase out harmful bacteria in ingredients such as eggs. He also got her an elegant copper pan that could be fine-tuned for cooking due to a few handy spells, and a cookbook entitled 'Obscure and Tasty Recipes'.

For Arthur, Harry suspected that he would like Muggle items more than anything else, so he decided to make a brief trip to Muggle London to search for a gift for him on a later date.

They entered the café shortly after he had paid for the presents, and ate an enjoyable lunch, talking and laughing over simple things. When they left, it was half an hour later, and Ginny pulled Harry off to explore the back streets and visit Paper Lane.

There weren't so many shops off the main square, but Harry still had an interesting time browsing a junk shop, although the place wasn't nearly as rewarding as those in Diagon Alley.

Soon enough, the two of them found themselves outside the Prophet offices, looking up at the neat building with no little amount of trepidation. Harry frowned as he watched people come and go. Was there a wizarding equivalent of a stockbroker? Perhaps he should find out a little more about the subject that he knew so little about before blundering his way into things. He was just about to suggest that they leave when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Harry darling." Whipping his head around, he saw the blonde head and snappy smile of Rita Skeeter. Stifling a mental groan, he reminded himself that he had blackmail against her.

"Rita," he replied cordially.

"Going for a little anonymity are we?" she asked with a large wink, eyeing his grey eyes. "How is life after the Tournament keeping you?" Harry couldn't help but feel his hackles raise as he wondered if this woman ever stopped asking him questions like he was in an interview.

"As well as can be expected, considering I witnessed the second rise of the Dark Lord," he replied blandly.

"Yes, well…" Rita trailed off, a little flustered, but then her eyes fell upon Ginny and a stealthy smile lit her face. "And who is this beautiful young lady, may I ask?"

"This is my dear adopted cousin, Merry," Harry replied, not missing a beat. He'd learnt his lesson from the articles about him and Hermione.

"Adopted cousin you say?" Rita inquired.

"Harry is like a brother to me really. It's an endearment to each other," Ginny replied, sending a sweet smile at both of them. "But, I'm afraid Ms Skeeter, that we have a lot still to do today."

"Of course, of course. Well Harry, if you ever need any interviews done, you know where to come." Rita sent him another wink, and Harry politely inclined his head to her, thankful that she had a reason not to badmouth him now, or he was sure that their meeting would be all over the papers by the next day.

The rest of the day was spent peacefully walking and talking, and it was only when the sky began to darken that they made their way back to the Floo portal.

---

Harry sipped gently at a small cup of coffee his favourite plush armchair. He had brought Ginny to see Rowena's rooms when they'd returned to the school, and she was currently buried in the Founder's extensive library. Rowena herself had been helping her for a little, but she had soon tugged Harry into conversation when the young redhead had buried her nose in a book on the other side of the room.

"How do you like Ginny?" Harry asked the older woman softly.

"I like her very much. From meeting her, and from what you have told me, I can already tell that she will go far," she replied, smiling knowingly. "You can expect great things from that one." Harry sighed and raised a brow at the woman in the painting.

"Really? And you wouldn't feel like telling me why you are so interested in her?" he asked blandly, but Rowena merely let out a light laugh and shook her head.

"That would spoil my fun. Just trust me on this, Harry," she assured him.

There was a moment of silence in which Harry contemplated her words. Rowena's interest in Ginny had stemmed ever since he'd first mentioned her, but no matter how hard he had tried the Founder refused to give out answers. Eventually Harry had just settled back from the enigma and resigned himself to wait for the results.

"When do you think I should attempt to find Salazar?" Harry asked. He still didn't agree with the idea of putting the, from what he had heard, rather vindictive man in a place of power, but Rowena had reasoned with him sensibly.

"As soon as you can," she replied, making Harry blink a little in surprise. Noting his look, she elaborated. "As I said before, with the four of us in place we can control and protect the castle far better. We were at its creation, and we know the magic in it better than any other person in the Wizarding world. Between the four of us, there is nothing we cannot do to it," she told him quietly.

Harry grimaced.

"You still have doubts about Salazar," she noted, correctly interpreting his expression. "I will explain myself a little better. These powers we speak of can only be fully worked when all four of us agree and work together. Without all of our portraits in place we can do nothing, and if this Voldemort attacks, the protections around the castle still lie dormant. Now, even if all four of us were in place, we would still need to agree. We may be powerful separately, but Salazar would never be allowed to abuse his powers, despite whatever modifications he has put on his portrait."

"Modifications?" Harry asked, wary.

"I suspect that Salazar would never have been satisfied with a mere portrait. It was his way, after all," she said, a sad look reaching her eyes as she continued. "He was, in his day, a very noble man. He could be a most powerful ally and a most formidable enemy. I was unfortunate to witness both sides of him in my time, something that I regret to this day."

Harry stayed silent, unsure of what to say to this. He could logically understand what she was saying, but he was reluctant to accept it, particularly as an uneasy feeling was growing in his belly at the thought of the school's most feared Founder. Even so, with Voldemort resurrected, they would need all the protections possible over the castle.

A few hours later, when his coffee was drained and he was getting up to leave Rowena spoke quietly to him in warning.

"Harry, I want you to trust Helga and I in this, but please be careful around dear Slytherin. His is not always the man he appears to be, and the masks he makes for himself are numerous. He is not above trying to use you for his own ends. I am relying on you not to fall for his traps. Don't let yourself be drawn in by him."

Harry nodded left to pull Ginny out of her explorations with the words ringing in his ears. He had been expecting a warning of some sort, and would have acted with caution around the man anyway, but her words did nothing to reassure him about his decision to find the portrait at all.

---


	20. Salazar Slytherin

---

**Chapter Twenty One: Salazar Slytherin**

---

It was a few days later when Harry and Ginny decided to go on their second trip. Harry had had a half-hearted look around the second floor, rather hoping that he _wouldn't_ find Salazar's portrait.

The morning of their trip dawned bright and early, the sky clear. Harry found Ginny waiting for him once more, and they didn't waste time before heading to the Floo portal. A few glamours later, Harry stepped into the fireplace and said 'Dreamwood Market' before vanishing in a whirl of green flames.

Harry couldn't restrain the gasp of wonder that burst from his lips as he blinked the soot away from his eyes. He had expected something…well, smaller and less stunning.

Taking a step away from the fireplace, he reached a hand to rest on the balustrade that ran round the small Floo Platform and surveyed the canopy stretched out below him.

Wooden huts, platforms and walkways all ran here and there before him. Dappled leaves hid the winding wooden structures that ran round the trees like tangled yarn. From his vantage-point he could see far over the houses and buildings, but from the look of it they were in an immense clearing.

Of course, the word 'clearing' was used with a pinch of salt, because the space was still filled with trees, but they were less dense than those he could see in the distance, and decidedly less tall. He may have thought that he was high off the ground where he stood, but the small lookout huts he could see on the borders of the clearing towered over the settlement below.

"We're on level nine," Ginny said, drawing up next to him.

"Nine?" Harry asked incredulously. It was only if he squinted through the swaying canopy below that he could catch a glimpse of the distant ground.

"Yes. There are a total of thirteen levels, and we'll have our work cut out to even thoroughly explore a few of them."

Harry couldn't help but nod appreciatively. This had to be the largest wizarding place he'd ever been. The market was the size of the Quidditch World Cup stadium, and even at seven in the morning it was bustling with customers. Ginny gently tugged Harry away from his dazed state, and the two of them began to walk towards a wooden staircase with a sign next to it proclaiming 'To Level Seven'. As they walked, Ginny explained a little of the history of the place to him.

"I've only been here twice and never had that good a look around, but I know a lot about it," she told him matter-of-factly. "This is the only public wizarding area where all different creatures mix freely. It was the elves and dryads that helped the first wizards set the market up, and since then it has been a recognised hub, and one of the largest inter-race peace zones. Even a werewolf in full moon could come here and remain unharmed, even if they had to be stunned to stop them from hurting others."

Harry was torn between turning to look at her with a shocked expression and ogling a stand covered in odd slimy squirming things. Harry had a feeling he had just found out where Snape came for his pickled animals and potions ingredients.

"It became pretty popular, and they had to introduce levels to keep the shops from being unmanageable. The levels are classified by what they sell, but the lowest layer, which is the one most in danger of woodland animals, is reserved for people who can't afford permanent shops or want somewhere to sell goods for only one day. Fred and George came here before they set up their shop, and sold their stuff down there. I think there are houses too, but they're on the highest levels."

Eyeing a nearby stall selling appetising things on sticks that emitted mouth-watering smells, Harry suggested food. A slightly suspicious looking witch ran the stall, but Harry liked the look of her stock anyway, and soon he and Ginny had several sticks of food. Harry had bought one that seemed to be some kind of meat filled bun on a skewer, and another threaded with plain strawberries.

Walking and browsing the shops, they ate and chatted, and it was not before long that Harry found himself completely overwhelmed by the place. It was a practical maze of stalls, all of which were covered in an eccentric range of wares from moving glass animals to bottled fairies. The neon-coloured snails that zipped around a racetrack particularly amused Harry. Several people stood before the table and he noticed with a little laugh that they were holding betting tickets.

It was with some effort that he tore his eyes away from the stand, immediately focusing on the next, where Ginny was peering at a glass horse that galloped and tossed its mane. Harry had noticed several stalls selling glassware, and many of them proclaimed that they were a branch of Mercury Avenue shops.

A few stalls along housed a bookseller, the volumes of which Harry delved eagerly into. One of his first finds was a book on Elemental Magic. Hadn't Helga mentioned that that branch of magic was considered evil in her time? He made a note to ask her more about it when he remembered, and looked over the other books. Most of them were of little interest to him, but there were several on Herbology of the forest that he considered Neville might like. He toyed briefly with buying him one for Christmas, but decided against it.

Whilst he paid for his tomes, Ginny had wandered over to the opposite stall, eyeing the various spheres scattered around the table curiously. It didn't take him long to join her, and soon he was peering at them too. The spheres were no bigger than a Knut, and had tiny loops obviously intended for a necklace. They were made out of various materials, some glass, some metal, some wood, although all the glass ones had something that looked like a ball of smoke at the core.

"Interested in the Spheres then are you?" Harry looked up surprised, and saw an elderly witch looking at him with shrewd but kindly eyes.

"Excuse me ma'am, but what do they do?" he asked curiously.

"Many things," she answered mysteriously. "But we just unified them into similar looking shapes."

Harry, looking closer at the globes laid out before him noticed tiny labels before each. One read 'Lie Detector', another read 'For Beauty', and another 'Rose Perfume'. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow at the witch, he spoke.

"Just simple helpful or protective charms on a product then? Doesn't that make them like lucky charms?" he asked suspiciously.

"Bingo. My husband and I used to work in the lucky charm business, but that went out of fashion a decade ago. These," she said, gesturing to the spheres, "are selling like wildfire. It's easier to work with them as well, because you're not restricted to something that has to look pretty," she smiled a little at the two of them. "So, you interested young man? You look like someone who could use a little Lady Luck."

Harry blinked. She was holding up a tiny gold sphere, and his mind instantly connected to the potion he had been told to dip the lucky charm in from his book.

"Felix Felicis?" he inquired, and the woman laughed a little.

"That's right. But not enough of a dose to compromise you in competitive sport and it works slowly over time. My son tells me that swallowing them is less than pleasant though," Harry blinked, and felt a smile grace his face.

"So coz, what are you going to buy?" Ginny asked him, her own lips curling up a little as her eyes ranged across them.

Harry passed over the more silly ones like Beauty and Anti-spot spheres, but his eyes fell upon those for increased speed and dexterity. There was another one for strength, and yet another for speed of mind.

"Are those affected by spells against the characteristics?" Harry asked, indicating the spheres in question.

"Some of the spells. They won't hold up against strong spells, but if the caster is weak then they will help just fine," the older woman informed him matter-of-factly. Harry nodded and made a mental note of them.

He passed over many, but his eyes came to rest on several detectors. Along with the Lie Detector there was an Eavesdropper Detector, a Glamour Detector, a Dark Detector, a Ward Detector, an Invisibility Detector, an Imminent Apparition Detector and many others. In the end, Harry ended up buying a few of those that caught his eye, after several pertinent questions about how they worked.

"How do I know you're not selling duds?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly, but the woman laughed.

"You don't, yet. Pick one to try on me," she encouraged, and eventually Harry chose the Lie Detector.

"I am twenty years old," she told him, and mild buzzes similar to an electric shock, although warm instead of painful, crackled into his palm making him yelp. "Satisfied?" Harry nodded, and the older witch smiled, while Ginny smirked.

"If you want to learn to recognise the signals they send out, just tap the thing and say 'Zap'. That will give you a full force blast. If you say 'Zap Minor' instead, then it will give you the lowest buzz. The force of it depends on the lie, and of course, there are certain things it won't work against. I'm sorry, but these are limited purely to humans, and they have to be alive for it to work."

"Thanks. I will be sure to test them out," Harry told her.

"It's worth knowing what they mean, I can tell you. The Imminent Apparition Detector will be practically worthless if you don't know what it feels like. Oh, and do remember that most of the Detectors work within a ten metre radius. It's difficult to stretch them further without making them bigger," she promptly gave him his spare change and pressed two leaflets into his hand.

"That will tell you how to change the force of the blast, how to set it to awake you when sleeping, how to make noise or none, how to set it for only your use and how to change the key words and such."

Harry let a purely genuine smile cross his face and thanked the woman before he and Ginny headed on to the other stalls.

---

Harry and Ginny had managed to progress to the lower levels of Dreamwood Market over the day, and were currently browsing a section that seemed to be dedicated to magical beasts whilst eating their lunch. Harry chewed on the corner of a peculiar looking fruit while Ginny slipped her less than palatable sticky bun to a large, hairy orange creature that walked on two legs.

Leaving Ginny to coo over the hairy orange thing, Harry headed into a small hut that turned out to be magically enlarged on the inside, holding hundreds of birds. A small man with tiny round spectacles was explaining the properties of a Hornbill to a few perplexed wizards, and Harry twirled to look around the room and wild confusion of colours and feathers lightened by the nervous chatter of the owner in the background.

The birds were fascinating and beautiful, but Harry found himself more interested by the small counter after the first few minutes of looking at the feathery creatures.

The table held a vast range of quills, potions ingredients, some exotic bird treats (a few packets of which he bought for Hedwig), and little vials holding things like 'Distilled Essence of Parrot'. Sniggering slightly, Harry picked out a silvery and translucent quill for Opa's Christmas present, and after paying for it he headed back out to meet Ginny.

Harry bought a serviceable trunk with a few compartments and some decent protective spells on as they browsed the stores, and a rather melancholy looking fairy in a tiny bottle from a man with strangely blackened teeth.

They stopped by a large stall selling wooden carvings clearly owned by permanent residents, as there was a house behind the stall, with the front room also used for the wares. Harry and Ginny perused with admiration, for some of the wooden sculptures were truly fabulous. Harry was very taken by a detailed sculpture in pale, shimmering wood of a basilisk, which made Ginny laugh out loud.

Picking it up, Harry made his way over to the counter, but was stopped in surprise when he caught sight of a shock of golden hair behind it.

"Chester?" he queried, dredging the boy's name out of his memories of their shared Mind Arts class.

"Hey, Harry is that you? Nice eyes," the other boy remarked, peering at Harry's grey irises. When he caught sight of the carving in Harry's hands a broad smile crossed his face, reminding Harry of nothing more than a cat before a bowl of cream.

"I take it you like my carving then?" he said teasingly, making Harry gape.

"You did this?" he exclaimed. "It's beautiful."

"I'm glad you think so," he put out a hand to stop Harry as he reached for his moneybag. "Don't worry. For you it's on the house. My family own the shop."

"Thanks…that's really kind." Harry was stunned.

"Just you take care of it now. Is that a Weasley I spot behind you?" he asked, looking at Ginny.

"Ginny Weasley," she replied, holding out her hand and shaking his.

"Chester," the boy replied, continuing at a puzzled look from Ginny. "I don't really have a last name. Or a first for that matter. Long story," he said with a grin. "So, what brings you two to Dreamwood Market?" He stepped from behind the counter, signalling a taller boy with messy blonde hair to take over.

"Well, Harry hasn't exactly got the best education about the Wizarding world," Ginny said with an impish smile. "He thought the Twin Alleys were the only wizarding places, so I decided to disabuse him of the notion."

"Hey!" he protested. "It's not my fault no one told me there were others." Ginny smirked at him, and Chester had a smile curling his lips upwards, his eyes bright and interested.

"Well if you want, I could show you around the place a bit more. My family lives here, so I know it like the back of my hand, but it's pretty confusing at a first glance."

"That would be a second kindness from you today," Harry replied with a smile. "I'm starting to feel like I owe you something." Chester just grinned and waved it off.

"Don't worry. I know a lovely little teashop on the eleventh level if you'd like to visit. I haven't had anyone from Hogwarts to talk to since I left, and I probably won't for the rest of the winter holidays, so we may as well catch up," he explained with a shrug.

They were soon following the golden haired boy up various walkways and ladders, watching as he sent friendly greetings to the various shopkeepers. Harry watched as Ginny shook her head a little in amusement when the same woman they had bought their breakfast from blew him a kiss and handed him a free skewer of strawberries, which didn't seem to have any problem growing out of season in the forest.

Harry noticed that the buildings became more dominated by houses and cafes as they went further up into the canopy. The building style changed a little, with the houses each on their own tree, sometimes with several of them stacked up over each other.

They crossed a large platform where people were milling about and turned off down a narrow walkway. A minute or two later, they were standing in front of a pokey building with another small platform beside it housing several tables and chairs. All around the place birds were perched, eyeing the people in the café with distant interest.

"Have you two seen Dr Featherby's stall yet? It's filled with birds, on the second level in the Beast section," Chester asked, and Harry nodded.

"We saw it just before we came up here."

"Well, this is his wife's café. You might have guessed, considering the décor," he gestured to the multicoloured birds, making Ginny snigger.

It didn't take them long before they had ordered their drinks and were sitting at one of the tables slurping them. Harry had decided to forgo his usual coffee and indulged in a smoothie like Chester and Ginny. He had ended up sitting rather close to the balustrade that fenced him off from the void of space and the immense drop to the forest floor.

They engaged in idle chatter for awhile, and Harry learnt that Chester had been carving things since he was old enough to hold a knife. His family, he explained, had owned the place since the Market was first set up, and had gradually moved up to higher levels and expanded their shop on the way. His parents had got it from his father's father, and his father before him, and so on.

"Dreamwood Forest isn't just used for collecting potions ingredients," he said with a wry grin before taking another slurp of his blueberry smoothie. "It has some of the rarest and best woods, magical and non-magical. It gets its name from the fabled Dreamwood tree. It's meant to be in the heart of the forest, but no one's ever found it," he said dismissively. Harry frowned. He was sure he'd heard of that plant before.

"Isn't Dreamwood bark a concentration piece for Dream Magic?" Harry asked, still frowning. Dream Magic was one of the subsections of magic that he'd read of in Rowena's library…oh. So that's where he'd learnt it. He made a mental note to ask her about it.

"Dream Magic? No one uses that stuff anymore Harry," the other boy replied, confused. Ginny just smiled a little, guessing where Harry had got his information.

In fact, the first reason Harry had researched the topic was to discover a way to stop his repetitive dreams, but as he had read he had been drawn further into the subject. Dream Magic had connections to some parts of the Mind Arts, but the user functioned best in a semiconscious state. It mentioned that many tribes and races across the world had access to this magic, because it was relatively simple to access and manipulate, even to the untrained wizard. Harry had a sneaking feeling that Voldemort was quite good at this level of magic, even when fully conscious. In the end, he hadn't managed to find a way to dispel his dreams, but he had learnt a great deal more than he'd expected.

Harry just smiled and shrugged the topic off. They spent awhile longer talking, before Chester led them around the stalls. Harry noticed that along with the shops, there were also several stalls offering guided tours around the forest. Chester helpfully pointed out the best – 'he'll lead you along the worst track, but that woman over there? She knows the best herb collecting paths out of all of them'. There were a variety of walks ranging from 'scenic' to 'beast hunting'.

Before long, Harry noticed that the sun was beginning to set, and the people still about lit paper lanterns so that the entire clearing glowed with hundreds of tiny lights. When Chester invited them to dinner they gratefully accepted, feet hurting from spending so long walking, and after a pleasant meal from his family they made their way back to the Floo Portal with the promise to catch up with him back at school.

---

Harry closed the lid of his trunk with a sigh. He was the only one in the dormitory, and had spent the last of his evening repackaging his old things into his new trunk. He was reluctant to display his purchases in the dormitory, considering that it was periodically filled with teenage boys with short tempers. Instead, he shrunk those he could, and packed those he couldn't, resetting the trunk to take a password before settling onto his bed to read. He hadn't really known what to do with the bottled fairy, but had decided to deal with it in the morning.

He barely felt his eyes begin to droop before a cold crept upon him and he sagged onto his pillow, the book forgotten. Darkness surrounded him, and the soft inhalation of breath from the nearby bed lulled his sleeping mind.

Slowly, Harry began to move. His legs unfurled, and he slipped softly off the bed, pushing aside the drapes. His feet took him to the door, and it was opened without hurry. He padded down the stairs, not twitching an eyelid as the Fat Lady called out to him in surprise.

It was a long way down from the tower, but the castle itself could feel the pull, and he encountered no one as he travelled down the dark, chilled corridors. The staircases remained static for once, and he drifted gently down them. There was the soft drip of water, and light splashes as his feet dipped into the shallow puddle. In his dream, Harry Potter reached out a hand to touch smooth stone…

He blinked. His hand rested on a stone like the one he had imagined, its cold shape and texture moulding into his hand. The corridor was filled with a deep, silent darkness punctuated only by the faint drip that could be heard as if from miles away. The familiar disorientation that accompanied his sleepwalking tumbled into his sleep-blurred brain.

"_Come…_" Harry shivered softly as the sibilant voice rang through the corridor and drew his hand away from the wall. There was something so soft, so alluring that he was only half surprised to see his feet start towards it.

"_Come…we have been waiting…"_

His pace remained steady, and Harry wandered towards the sound, his head stilled fuzzy with dreams and half-remembered fragments.

"_Follow…"_

Harry blinked several times and stopped. He shouldn't be here…why was he even following it?

"W-who are you?" he stuttered, hating himself for the weakness that sounded in his voice.

"_Come…"_ the sound was fading to a whisper, so faint that Harry could be sure he didn't hear it at all. Shaking his head he turned, muttering to himself.

"Must be going slowly mad. Voices, huh."

"Oh, little one. I hear them too."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as a whisper sounded from almost beside him. He twisted and stared frantically around, his gaze searching the empty corridor. There was nothing nearby, just an empty corridor and a few dozing portraits. Fumbling, Harry reached for his wand, only to draw his hand back horrified, as he realised that it was still on his bedside stand. Drawing a deep, fortifying breath, he turned to the direction that the second voice had come from. After all, it could just be Peeves playing another trick.

"Show yourself," he demanded, happy that his voice was a little stronger now. There was a low velvety chuckle that seemed to come from the very walls themselves.

"Look with your mind, little one," Harry twitched in surprise again, but unconsciously did as he was told. Logic…there had to be some logic behind this all! Hermione would be able to figure it out, he thought. The walls…

A small tapestry drew his attention. Didn't he know that one? Yes…it was the one that a portrait had shown him one day. He would have to walk before it three times for the hiding hole to appear. Edging nervously up to it, he spoke quietly.

"H-how do I get you out?" _If this was who he thought it was…_

"You have no idea how irritating it is to see people come in and out, not seeing you, not feeling you…"

"R-right," Harry stuttered again, before walking up and down before the tapestry and thinking of how similar this hiding place was to that of the Room of Requirement. Turning back to it, he lifted the heavy fabric, and taking a deep breath he reached his hands into the darkness, cringing at the idea that something might take a chunk out of them when he was unaware.

_Not feeling you…_Harry thought. He wouldn't be able to feel the thing until he got it out then. Flexing his still shaking hands, he reached as far back as the hiding hole went, before hooking his hands around the imaginary frame. Drawing back, he was struck by a sudden and unexpected weight on his arms. It was only when his hands emerged from behind the tapestry that a dark wooden frame materialised in his hands.

"Salazar," Harry breathed.

The man before him was the same as that in the sketch he had seen in Rowena's rooms, if slightly older. There was the same dark hair and hollowed cheeks, but that was not what drew Harry's attention. It was the man's eyes that held the greatest fascination, for they were so dark it was almost impossible to see them, but even in the dim light they hinted at a thousand secrets.

"Your rooms," Harry choked out after a minute or so. Slytherin simply smiled a little. As the silence stretched, something clicked in Harry's mind. "R-right." He began to walk back the way he'd come, trailing one hand along the wall at shoulder height.

Soon, his hand encountered a smooth stone that folded into his hand and seemed so terribly familiar to him. His hand moved across, feeling it over with the pads of his fingers. Surely there should be some sign? After all, the Chamber of Secrets was marked.

Just then, the tips of his fingers encountered a small circle. Squinting through the darkness, he thought he could make out a tiny snake but then again, it really was too dark to see clearly. Coughing slightly to clear his throat, he concentrated on the idea of a snake until he could almost imagine his words coming out as hisses.

"_I demand entry, stone snake,"_ he hissed through his teeth. There was a moment where he was unsure that it was going to work, before the entire section of wall dissolved into twisting shadows. Taking a deep breath and praying that he wasn't doing something stupid, Harry stepped through.

This feeling of being encased in shadows was very different to that of the entrance to Rowena's rooms. Whilst the transition between the dungeons and the small circular entrance hall to Ravenclaw's rooms had been a quick swirl of blackness, the movement through the darkness into Slytherin's rooms was like walking miles under the ocean. There was a soft tugging at his mind, making him feel as if his thoughts were being slowly pulled apart. With a great effort, Harry put another foot ahead of him and tried to stop the feeling of his brain unravelling.

There was one last ponderous shudder, and Harry was suddenly reminded that he could draw breath into his lungs. Putting the portrait to the floor and resting his hands on his knees, Harry drew in several panicked gasps, the last vestiges of sleep fading from his mind. It took him awhile before his breathing became regular again, but when it did, he reached a hand to pick up the portrait once more before observing his surroundings.

Similarly to Rowena's rooms, Salazar's had an entrance hall of sorts. The difference was, however, that instead of a claustrophobic chamber, three corridors stretched out before him, disappearing into blackness at the ends. In the passages there was a familiar, dim light that illuminated the paths from no particular direction or source. Repressing a shudder at the foreboding appearance of the tunnels, Harry turned to the portrait.

"Which way do I go?" he asked, eliciting a soft snort from the man in the picture. Otherwise he remained quite silent. Harry let out a sigh and peered down each of the tunnels respectively. If the Hat had really considered him best in Slytherin, then he would be able to figure this out. After all, there were only so many passages he could travel down, right?

_Stupid_, he chastised himself. Of course not. Magic knew no bounds, especially in Hogwarts. The three tunnels stretching ahead of him reminded him eerily of his third task, bringing back a whole host of unwanted memories.

Taking another deep, fortifying breath, he turned off down the left-hand tunnel, pacing more confidently than he felt into the darkness. He walked for several minutes, but unlike the third task in the previous year there were no side turnings at all. The corridor simply stretched straight on into blackness.

He paused and turned, looking back, and was dismayed to see that the entrance had disappeared from sight all together. He wondered vaguely whether it would even be there if he returned the way he'd come. Shifting his grip on the portrait, he reached out one hand to trail along the wall. Perhaps if he could not _see_ any turnings, he might be able to _feel_ them.

Several minutes later still, and there was no change. Empty walls still stretched ahead of him, and Harry was beginning to become worried. Salazar had remained as unresponsive as ever. Deciding to take a new initiative, Harry focused on snakes, and began muttering away in parseltongue.

"_Open, open, open, open,_" he chanted, but to no avail.

After converting most of the nursery rhymes and songs he knew to the snake language, he gave up and sagged against the wall, propping the portrait opposite and sending it a scowl. Slytherin merely smirked back.

Harry furrowed his brow in thought and leant his head back, running through the things he knew about the Founder. Both Helga and Rowena had mentioned his love of trickery and deception, and both had warned him against being complacent about the man.

But really, how many tricks could be put into place around a maze with no turnings? Harry was almost positive that no matter how far he walked, he would never reach the rooms without figuring out some sort of puzzle. But Slytherin wouldn't let him stay trapped here would he? After all, it was in his best interests to help him find the rooms. He could have set numerous traps by now, if he'd wanted to.

Harry's frown deepened as he became anxious. He still couldn't get around the idea that corridors this big could fit into Hogwarts without showing up. He knew that it was possible, given Hogwarts intensive magic, but something bothered him about it. Surely there would be repercussions somewhere else? Maybe he hadn't noticed, but someone must have wondered, mustn't they? Unless…

"They aren't really here…" Harry whispered out loud. That would be a very Slytherin thing to do. To rig the illusion of tunnels so completely that an intruder was convinced they were there, when really the door was in front of them all along, and they were simply standing in one spot.

"_It's an illusion,_" he hissed, concentrating as hard as he could on the idea.

Nothing changed.

Trying harder, Harry changed tactics. "_It isn't here…"_

Still, the corridor remained. Grumbling, Harry picked up the portrait and closed his eyes again, focusing on the concept.

"_It's an illusion._"

Opening his eyes, he found that the darkness had remained as unforgiving as ever. Grumbling, he took a step forwards…

And stumbled as the passage dissolved into flat black. Reaching out an arm to right himself, his hand brushed against wood. Blue flames flared into life, and he blinked at the sudden brightness that left splotches of colour in his eyes.

Peering around, Harry saw that he was standing in a short corridor with a door at the opposite end to which he was standing. Unlike the passages he had recently been traversing, the walls were not stone, but instead a pale, almost white wood that looked ghostly and grey against the blue flames.

This time it was not difficult to explain the source of the light, for Harry was resting his hand on it. Before him was an elegantly carved wooden serpent, its jaws wide and a small ball of fire resting between them. A similar carving rested opposite and peering up, Harry could see a sharp spike of metal sticking out between them.

Praying that he was doing the right thing, he hefted the portrait on to his shoulder and hung it from the hook above.

---


	21. Invisibility Project

---

**Chapter Twenty Two: Invisibility Project**

---

The blue flames flickered and flared from between the jaws of the carved snakes and in the frame, Salazar closed his eyes and titled his head back. He remained in that position for some time, before his head once more dropped forwards, and a smile of great satisfaction came over his features.

However, it was his eyes that bore the most startling change. If they had appeared lively in the dim light of the corridors where Harry had discovered him, then it was nothing compared to what they looked like now.

They remained dark, but the flames reflected off the irises, casting them in a dark blue. Other irises appeared to have a glazing of colour, but Salazar's looked like they had been dyed to the core with such a deep cobalt blue as to be almost black. These were eyes that were far too alive to be a normal portrait, giving Harry the feeling that the fourth founder may have invested a whole lot more of his soul in the picture than any of the others.

Blinking, Harry took a minute step away from the most lifelike picture. He really wanted to get into the rooms, but he also had the feeling that he shouldn't be too hasty with Slytherin. If he were as secretive as the others had described, then he wouldn't take too kindly to Harry trying to barge into his private chambers.

"Good to be back?" he asked tentatively.

"_Yes…_" the other man hissed.

He made a casual gesture with his arm, and Harry found himself gaping at a comfortable looking blue sofa that had appeared behind him.

"Sit, little one. We have a lot to discuss," the portrait told him, and with a careful glance, Harry complied.

There was a stretch of silence, which Salazar seemed to be waiting for Harry to break. However, Harry himself was preoccupied with his memories of what had occurred before he'd found the portrait at all. He'd been lured out of his bed _again_, and led…where? By what? He wasn't sure anymore…the sleepy recollections were slipping out of his mind like water.

No, they weren't. They were slipping behind that impenetrable barrier in his head where he knew all the answers to this were kept. But he _did_ remember that Salazar had agreed with him. That had been how he had found the picture after all. Could this have something to do with Voldemort? It certainly sounded like something he'd have concocted, and to have Slytherin thrown into the mix too. Things were not looking good for him. He'd need to start setting up some precautions to stop him wandering around at night.

Then there was the magic the man had just performed. Neither Helga nor Rowena had done anything to that extent, nor made it seem so trivial. To have sealed enough of the soul in something to still perform powerful magic with it? It was an idea that reeked of Voldemort, but even then, he had needed a life to bring him back to full power from the diary. Salazar performed magic without a fresh influx of someone else's energy.

"Have you met your heir?" Harry questioned, a dark expression on his face. The dark haired man before him raised a brow and gave him a measuring look.

"I was unaware that I had an heir by blood," he replied smoothly. Harry couldn't help but feel his brows raise a little in disbelief.

"And I'm supposed to believe Slytherin, the man renowned most for deception and lies?" he asked, his words unintentionally laced with sarcasm.

"Deception, yes. Lies, no. Lies are for the inexperienced and ignorant."

"So we can safely assume that you have never heard or communicated with Tom Riddle?" Harry pursued.

"Yes," he answered briskly. "Now, for my questions. Why have you come after my portrait?" Harry blinked; he hadn't been expecting him to be so straightforward.

"The castle is going to need all the protection it can get. You haven't been around for awhile, but when you last were, we were at war. That ended, but the main instigator rose from the dead last summer, and now we're just waiting for him to strike," he said, tensing a little as he recalled that terrible night. "His primary target will be Hogwarts," Harry told him.

Slytherin was giving him an odd, calculating look, which Harry didn't appreciate in the least.

"What is your name?" Salazar asked at length.

"Harry Potter," he said.

"Well, Harry, if both Rowena and Helga have given you their trust, as I can feel they have, then I will too. You are welcome to enter my rooms," he said, the odd look that had been in his eyes completely gone, and in its place was a courteous countenance.

"Really?" Harry asked, suspicious at the invitation.

"If, of course, you know what to say," Slytherin added. Ah, Harry thought, there's that condition.

Frowning, he leant further back into the plush sofa. Something at the back of his head was fluttering away, like the delicate gossamer wings of a moth, if only he manage to capture it. Flashes of memory dashed across his mind as he thought, unaware of the minutes slipping past.

It had to be parseltongue, he thought. That went without question. Everything that Slytherin protected was in parseltongue, simply because it was so exclusive.

He'd read more about parseltongue recently. Like any other language, it was possible to learn it in the human form, although difficult. However, the gift of the parselmouth and the true sign of it was the ability to talk to snakes. Any human could learn to understand the sounds issuing from another human mouth, but it was impossible for anyone but a true parselmouth to speak to snakes and understand them. As far as Harry knew, the snakes wouldn't be so keen to obey someone who had just learnt the language rather than being born with it either.

He ran through Salazar's various protections over the Chamber of Secrets, trying to determine a pattern among them. That had been the only time he'd dealt with the man, even if he had been long dead at that time. All the passwords were in parseltongue, but there wasn't anything momentous about them was there?

Or perhaps there was. He could remember the feeling of standing before Riddle as he called the Basilisk out, watching that massive statue of Salazar Slytherin _move_ and the king of serpents slither out like some elongated deadly tongue.

Standing in one swift motion, he moved towards Salazar's portrait purposefully. There could be only one thing to say to the man before him that would convince him totally that Harry was someone to be trusted.

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four,"_ he hissed, deliberately letting his eyes fall a little in submission. He certainly knew that it would be interpreted that way.

There was a pause, and then he saw out of the corner of his eye another dark smile spread across the older man's face. The torches fluttered and died, and the portrait swung open.

---

There was an eerie similarity between Salazar's rooms and those of Rowena. However, whilst Rowena's had been light and cheerful, Salazar's were dark and mysterious. Harry had been expecting to find something to live up to the Founder's reputation for the sinister and dark, and he was not disappointed.

What really got to him though, was the odd silence in the room. Helga's had had the fire crackling, and Rowena's, whilst silent, had been the quiet of a library. Salazar's reminded Harry of the quiet found in a graveyard. Lacking in birdsong and the sound of nature, the respectful hush of death all around. It sent a chill down his spine.

The room that stretched before him was quite long, and rectangular. The ceiling stretched far up into the sky, and a domed glass roof was above, but it was a long and oblong, similar to the room shape, and the sky shown outside was dark and stormy looking.

These rooms also had several levels but unlike Rowena's, which only had two, there were three levels stretching up either side of him. The entire room was done in dark colours, mainly blacks and deep greens, but occasionally there would be touches done in the same pale wood from the corridor outside. Once again, the floor Harry was on was relatively empty aside from a few shelves, but he suspected that there was probably more to this level of the room than met the eye.

Frowning, Harry noted that there were no portraits visible on the ground floor. Rowena's had been hung straight before him, but it was not so with Salazar's. With a prickling feeling at the back of his neck, Harry turned, and started as he spotted Salazar staring down at him from above the doorway. It was so typically Slytherin to have a portrait where anyone who entered the room would be unable to see it.

"This is more what I expected a Founder's room to look like," Harry said with a nervous smile. This was definitely not a place that put him at ease like the other rooms. It reminded him of the dungeons, and Snape's classrooms.

"And the others were not as you had expected?" Salazar inquired lightly, but his eyes had sharpened. Harry shrugged.

"Not really. I'd sort of imagined them being done in House colours or something," Harry admitted. Salazar simply stared, and Harry suddenly felt pressed to explain more clearly. "Well, Helga's rooms are light and cheery, and so are Rowena's, but I'd thought that the House colours were each of your favourite colours, so it only made sense to expect your rooms done in them."

Salazar raised one dark brow at him, and Harry felt himself cringing inwardly. "Sorry," he added.

"It is not an ill founded assumption, little one," Salazar said, before looking down at him with another odd expression on his face. "Come, I will show you around my rooms. No doubt you are curious."

Harry nodded hesitantly. He was curious, but he was also less than comfortable. That he was allowed in the rooms at all was kind, to be sure, but he had expected it to take a lot more than that to convince him. Maybe he was merely being overly suspicious, but his instincts had never led him wrong before.

"To your left are a set of stairs," Slytherin gestured, and Harry turned to find himself looking at another set of spiral stairs. It certainly seemed that the Founders had a penchant for them.

It didn't take him long to climb them, and when he had settled on the next level he found himself quite startled to realise that there was a walkway spanning the open gap down the centre of the room to the opposite side that certainly hadn't been there when he was below.

Looking around himself, he found that he was in a comfortable sitting area of sorts. There was a pair of elegant sofas similar to the one that Salazar had conjured for him and a comfortable looking armchair that appeared to have been well used. They sat before a low table, and to his delight, a fireplace. It had definitely not been warm in the corridors outside, and the cold had managed to work its way into Harry's bones.

Hurrying over, Harry was pleased to note that there was another portrait above the fireplace, as was normal in the other rooms. It was a comforting regularity that eased some of Harry's unease. After a questioning look at Salazar, he made to reach for the box of matches he spotted laying by the fireplace.

He was quite unprepared when with a sound like a firecracker he found himself thrown off his feet and hurled backwards a few metres. Shocked, he lay still for a few minutes, trying to steady his reeling head. When he did look up, he noticed that he hadn't even been able to touch the box that stood by the grate.

It was only when he turned his attention to the portrait that he noticed Salazar's pleased smirk.

"What the hell was that?" he exclaimed breathlessly, feeling for all the world like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. Which, on reflection, it probably had.

"That, was a little precautionary spell," he informed him. Harry just gaped at the smug expression the Founder was wearing. He'd always thought Slytherins were paranoid, but this…

"You could have warned me," Harry grumbled, still picking himself off his feet.

"I believe that you learn far more effectively through your own trial and mistakes," here the Founder's smile widened a little. "Experience is the greatest teacher." Harry just stared at him blankly.

"Well, can I have the counter charm or password or whatever so I can light a fire?" Harry asked, a little bemused by the whole thing.

In response, large golden flames leapt into the grate, and a wave of heat settled over him. Harry found he much preferred these bright, orange flames to the ghostly ones outside at the moment. There was something about blue flames that made him feel as if they weren't warming him at all.

"I suppose you're going to tell me that the chairs and sofas are charmed against people sitting on them," Harry joked, but instantly sobered when he saw the smile return to Salazar's face. He was beginning to notice that that particular smile didn't mean something good. The man also had very pointed looking teeth that made Harry feel a little unsettled, and he remembered tales of vampires. Somehow he didn't think he'd manage to be surprised if it turned out that Salazar Slytherin had been a vampire.

"You'll understand soon enough. You simply need to ask," he said. Harry looked at him sceptically.

"And you're really going to tell me the answers, aren't you?" he deadpanned.

"It is not me that you need to ask," was the reply.

Harry's irritation rose, but he looked at the man curiously, trying to decipher the meaning of his comment. Slowly, he tore his gaze from the portrait and turned it to the slightly battered looking armchair.

As he inched closer, his eyes widened. A pattern over the blue fabric that he had taken to be simply a pattern were, in fact, hundreds of tiny interwoven snakes. As he shifted, he could see their tiny heads following him. To confirm his suspicions he moved to the fireplace and sure enough, there at the back of the grate was a large serpent engraved into the metal. He watched warily as its eyes followed him.

"You've animated _all_ your furniture?" Harry asked, incredulous. He had to admit, the man certainly had skill enough to do just that. To animate the snakes in the Chamber of Secrets had been impressive enough, but this was incredible. Not to mention paranoid in the extreme.

"It became something of a pastime of mine over the years," the older man admitted, his overly alive eyes still on Harry.

"So it seems," he replied dazedly, his eyes scanning over the various items around him. Hell, even the rug and the table had snakes on them. The shelves were decorated with them. The stairs had them as handrails. How could he not have noticed before this? Still, it was only now he was actively _looking_ for them that he found them.

Remembering what Salazar had said, he returned to the chair he had been previously examining. Looking it over, he could see hundreds of tiny snakes still, but two far larger ones intertwined over the back of it. Harry decided to address himself to them.

"_Little snakes, can I sit here?"_ he asked.

"_Can we trust it?"_ said one.

"_The master told us not to speak to anyone but himself,"_ the other replied.

"_But the master has been gone for many years."_

"_Yes, but his image is still there, listening and watching."_

There was a pause, before the first one spoke again. "_The master can no longer use our help. He can only sit in the image, while his bones lie underground._"

Harry frowned, faintly disturbed by their surreal conversation. Perhaps he could help though…

"_Your master told me to ask you,"_ he said in what he hoped was a confident voice. He had been practising parseltongue more recently, and he was becoming more proficient at making conscious switches between languages.

"_Oh, this one knows that we cannot understand what our master says in the other tongue. How cruel he is!_" Exclaimed the one that seemed opposed to him sitting down. Casting a glance at Slytherin, Harry found him only watching his battle with the little creatures with amusement.

"_When has the master ever lied to us? The master would not allow the little one to lie to us,_" the first snake insisted. Harry noted with interest that all the nearby snakes were watching this confrontation. If he won, then he was sure that he would have a lot more luck with the rest of the furniture.

"_The master has his own plans,"_ the second one said, but it sounded hesitant. Harry decided that it was time to intervene.

"_Would he have let me in if he thought I would do you wrong?"_ he asked. There was a moment of silence, as the two appeared to consider what he had said.

"_We will let you sit, little one,_" they told him, with an inclination of their heads. Harry returned the favour and settled himself in the armchair with a sigh, making sure to stroke the embroidered snakes he'd been speaking to.

He had been interested to note that Salazar himself used the same title for him as the snakes did. Perhaps it was simply because he had spent so much time speaking in the snake tongue.

As Harry surveyed the room, he was suddenly struck by the extent of Salazar's precautions. Even if someone did manage to open the door, get through the illusion of a labyrinth, and gain access to these rooms, they would still be unable to make use of anything unless they spoke parseltongue, and had Salazar's approval. For once, Harry found himself inordinately grateful for the gift.

"Very clever of you," he told Salazar.

"What is?" he asked, but from his tone Harry could tell that he already knew the answer.

"Using animated snakes on the furniture. Not only are they loyal only to you, but only another parselmouth could use the room. Or even get into it," he added. He would bet his last knut that Lord Voldemort would love nothing better than to know about this place, if he didn't already. He was still less than confident that the portrait had told him the truth about meeting his heir.

"It was entirely necessary. I could not afford that anyone gain access," said Salazar.

"But you let me in," Harry pointed out.

"But I let you in," he agreed.

"Why?" Harry asked, and knew the moment he saw Slytherin pause before answering that this would be the crux of the matter.

"Because I need one who is able to help me outside of these rooms," Salazar said, the smile now gone and his dark eyes looking at Harry piercingly.

"I thought you could use the magic of the castle," Harry asked suspiciously.

"I can," admitted the older man with a slight shrug. "But there are some things that can only be done in person." Seeing Harry's expression grow even more distrustful, he added, "But I do not intend to have you do anything you do not wish to. Simply a few tasks here and there."

Harry paused to mull that over for a moment. Small tasks…but what? He wasn't at all reassured by the man's comment that he would do nothing he did not wish to. What he really wanted to know though, was what the rewards were for him.

"And what do I get out of this deal?" he asked, careful to keep his expression neutral. There was another long moment where Salazar considered his question, his unnaturally vibrant eyes sparkling slightly against the flames.

"You have access to these rooms, and the secrets that you are able to find within them." With a fresh smile on his face he eyed Harry. "And let me assure you, there is much that you will not find." He paused once more, thinking.

"Some of the things you will retrieve will be useful to you, of course. Some of them will not be yours to use, but others…" he trailed off suggestively, and Harry's eyes brightened at the idea of finding valuable treasure hidden around the school. It wouldn't be so bad. After all, he had an invisibility cloak and the Marauder's map with him. But the Headmaster would be able to spot him…

"Er…" Harry hesitated, unsure of how to phrase his question. "You said yourself that you knew about deception," he stated. When Slytherin inclined his head, he continued a little more boldly. "I was wondering…well, really two things. I have an invisibility cloak, but the headmaster can see through it," Harry didn't miss the way Slytherin's eyes darkened at the mention of the headmaster. Obviously they hadn't got along too well. "I was wondering if you knew why?"

"And you wish to know how to stop him, too?" he asked, and Harry responded with a nod.

"If you'd tell me," he said.

Salazar looked out over the room, his eyes growing distant.

"I happen to have a very intimate knowledge of the creation of an invisibility cloak, and it is a key to the ability of not being fooled by their power. The invisibility cloak is a complex mesh of spells. They are made from the hair of the Demiguise, which is a very difficult substance to apply spells to, and thus the charms must be layered over one base charm that will stick to the substance." He paused, and looked at Harry to see that he was following the thread.

"The base charm for most invisibility cloaks is, oddly enough, the Loyalty charm. Demiguises are intensely loyal to those they deem to trust, and their pelt accepts the spell easily. Woven into that, are several charms that trigger the invisibility mechanism when it covers a body, and several Disillusionment charms." Salazar leant back, pausing to examine one hand casually.

"There are several ways to bypass a Cloak, but as well as I know the headmaster, I would suggest that he would choose to fool the Loyalty charm." Harry started a little at this information. Salazar Slytherin knew the headmaster well? He almost interrupted, but thought better of it at the last moment.

"Loyalty charms are not easily fooled," Salazar said lazily. "To bypass the Loyalty charm, you must apply a variant of it to yourself. And for that to work, you must feel at least some loyalty towards the person you wish to see. Albus Dumbledore would not be able to experience such a phenomenon with his enemies," he said, his eyes narrowing a little. "If someone he felt no loyalty to appropriated your cloak, he would not be able to see through it, but no doubt he has placed his own spells upon such a valuable item to prevent that from occurring."

Harry sat back, head churning with information. So Dumbledore was loyal to him, if only the barest amount, and that was how he could see through the Cloak. It seemed a little farfetched, but Slytherin had explained it clearly enough for him to grasp.

However, Slytherin himself seemed irritated, both that Dumbledore could see through his Cloak, and that he was loyal to Harry. He'd said his name, and he'd said he knew the man. It seemed that Dumbledore and he had some history together. Not for the first time, Harry found himself wondering what the headmaster had said to the last Founder.

"So…how can I stop him from seeing me without…" Harry trailed off. He didn't want to think of the rest of the sentence. Unfortunately, Slytherin continued.

"Losing his loyalty?" Salazar suggested with a curl of his lip.

"I don't want to do that. I can't," Harry said stiffly. Salazar looked at him contemplatively for a moment, before continuing in a nostalgic tone.

"No, I imagine that you would not. But there are more ways than that to hide yourself from those loyal to you." Harry frowned a little at his tone, but asked the question on the tip of his tongue anyway.

"How?" He knew that it was certainly worth being able to avoid the headmaster's sight. Salazar looked contemplatively out over the rooms as he thought.

"Many ways, some more complicated than most. I would suggest that you try the alteration of the Loyalty charm. I have always wondered why they are not made with this extra spell intact, but it greatly differs between makers," he said thoughtfully.

Harry's head was buzzing with questions about the subject, and he asked the foremost one, even though somewhere at the back of his head a small voice was telling him that he was too much like Hermione with a new book for his own good.

"Different makers?" he asked for clarification.

"Indeed. There are several Cloak makers, or there were when I was alive. They are very refined, and exceptionally difficult to make, not only because the Demiguise is so notoriously rare, and does not respond well to captivity. Those who craft them use different spells for the bases, and have different ways of working. In my time, it was possible to identify the maker from their choice of base spell. From what you have said, it is safe to assume that your Cloak has a Loyalty base," the Founder informed him.

"From what I've said? But I only said that Dumbledore could see through it," Harry said, suspicious once more.

"Ah, but Dumbledore is too noble to use such underhanded methods on a pupil, and let me tell you, the other methods _are_ underhanded. He is also unlikely to know of any other bases, as they are rare to find even among Cloak makers," Salazar explained casually.

"How…how do you know so much about Invisibility Cloaks?" Harry asked; voicing the question that had been plaguing his mind since this line of information began.

"Ah, Harry. I will tell you this only because you have proved most inquisitive so far," Salazar told him, his eyes taking on an odd gleam as he spoke. "In my youth Invisibility Cloaks existed, yes, but they were unrefined in their design, and each I found was ineffective. It was during the travels of my younger years that I encountered a very interesting man that had a theory about Demiguises. As you might have been able to guess, we finalised the design that you see today."

Harry blinked. This was the man that had practically created the Cloak he used? Still, he could imagine that it would be very appealing to embark on such a venture, especially to a man like Salazar Slytherin. The man interrupted his thoughts.

"What else does your Cloak do?" Harry looked at him dimly. What did he mean, 'what else'?

"It…er. It makes me invisible," Harry said, bemused. "That's all."

Salazar raised a brow in surprise. "That's all?"

"That's all," Harry affirmed.

"Then perhaps, you would like to embark on a little project with me," Salazar said with a secretive smile.

---

**Notes:** Well, there we are. I managed to post a chapter before Christmas, at least for us Brits anyway. Merry Christmas everyone, and have a very good New Year.

- Dream Red


	22. Breakfast and Magic

---

**Breakfast and Magic**

---

"What kind of project?" Harry asked, curious despite himself. He could remember the female Founders' warnings against this man, but he was nothing if not fascinating.

"Well, since you are planning to make alterations regardless, a few more would not go amiss," Salazar commented, before raising his eyes to look at Harry. "It has been a long time since I have been able to stretch my mind. Will you allow me this one thing?"

Harry was torn. He was overcome with the possibilities that lay stored within the painting before him, but a voice in his head was screaming quite vehemently against it. Still, he could find no logical reason to object. Perhaps they could even add spells to seal off sound, so he wouldn't have to cast silencing spells on himself all the time. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to indulge the man just this once. It wasn't as if the proposal was dangerous, was it?

"All right then. I'll bring my Cloak with me next time I visit." Harry paused, his thoughts trailing off. "When I was sleepwalking, there was…_something_, calling me. I remember that much, but you…you agreed with me," Harry said urgently, eyes snapping up to Salazar's. "I _need_ to know this. It is very important."

Silence reigned for a long moment, and Salazar regarded Harry with a steady and unyielding gaze. Harry's eyes flicked from Salazar's and back again. For some reason he couldn't overcome how real the portrait looked to him, and his gaze was daunting. Finally, the Founder broke the silence.

"I do not have the answers to your questions. I merely agreed with you that I had felt the pull too," he replied, and Harry would have been convinced but for the small fluttering in the back of his mind that told him that Salazar wasn't giving him all the information. Sighing, Harry rested his head on his hands, replaying the memory again and again, searching for some clue that would let him access all the things stored away in the back of his head.

"You spoke to me," Harry said slowly. "But you could have spoken at any time before that, and people would have noticed. Hell, I was even hiding behind that tapestry a few times."

"Surely you don't think that Dumbledore would have left me to call out?" Salazar asked, an amused smile on his face.

"No. I suppose not. But that still leaves why you were able to then," Harry persisted.

"Suffice to say, there was powerful magic working that night. The castle itself wanted me back in place," Salazar said evasively.

Stretching, Harry yawned and then pulled himself up into a standing position. It was time that he explored a little more, or he was going fall asleep in his chair. Walking over to one of the walls, he surveyed the bookcase before him. It was made out of a dark wood, but occasionally the snakes carved into it were made out of the pale wood he'd seen outside.

Careful not to touch anything, Harry began to peruse the shelves. He occasionally hissed a soft greeting to the snakes, praising them on their beauty, and how delicately carved they were. The responses he got were generally good, but some were more guarded than others were. Harry took that to indicate which subjects he would have more difficulty retrieving a book from.

Unsurprisingly, a large number of the books were on the Dark Arts, as well as a great many on the Mind Arts and deception. He was also interested to note a quite few Potions and Herbology books scattered around too. The few other shelves around the room contained various odd items, much like those in the fake Mad-Eye Moody's office. Something about that reminder sent shivers down Harry's spine.

Harry was confused to note a small flat topped chest on the opposite side of the room that held a variety of stones on its surface. Only one appeared to be of any value, but the rest were ones he might as well have picked up on a trip to the beach.

"What are these?" Harry asked the man in the portrait, who had conjured himself a glass of wine.

"I will show you, if you ascend another floor," he turned a critical eye to Harry, who was swaying slightly on his feet. "Although I think that that may have to wait until you are fully rested. We will talk more in the morning."

With that, he hissed something low out of Harry's hearing, and one of the sofas expanded. A moment later a soft cover appeared, and Harry found himself too tired to protest that he should really get back to his dorm.

---

Waking was an odd experience. The room around him was very different to what he was used to seeing, not to mention that he was sleeping on a large sofa rather than his typical four poster bed. Even the smell was different. Where Gryffindor Tower smelt musty, like tapestries and warmth, this room smelt like the cold, and an odd mixture of herbs that he couldn't identify.

Blinking, he shrugged off the warmth of the cover and looked around him. He was startled to notice that in addition to being in an unfamiliar room, he was still fully dressed.

With a flash, memories of the previous night returned. He'd sleepwalked all the way down to near the tapestry that concealed the hiding hole. To think that he'd been hiding behind it and Slytherin had been there the whole time!

He hadn't really bought the man's story the previous night, but he couldn't deny that powerful forces had been at work then. Shaking his head, he raised a hand to unconsciously rub his scar. Things were really getting out of hand. Magic was being stolen from the castle, he was having recurring dreams that led him to wander around the hallways at night, and he was on a search for the Founders' portraits. Not to mention the fact that Voldemort was back and Dumbledore still hadn't returned from the effects of the ritual.

Stretching a little, he turned his attention to the portrait that hung above the now low fire, and met dark eyes. There was something disconcerting about the stare that made Harry think that the Founder had been watching him as he was sleeping. That in itself was highly disturbing.

"You are awake," the older man stated, and Harry nodded, unsure of what to reply. There was a long pause in which Harry fiddled with the edge of the blue cover.

"Can…er, can the house elves come here?" he asked, the idea that they might _not_ be able to just occurring to him.

"If I wish it," was the reply, another thing that unsettled Harry. He realised that he would probably be unable to even leave the rooms if Slytherin didn't want him to. He hadn't thought of it like that before. Summoning a little patented Gryffindor courage, he spoke.

"Actually, I was wondering if I might be able to get some breakfast," he said neutrally.

"I see no problems with that," Salazar replied, his eyes becoming calculating as he continued. "If you wish, I will introduce you to the mystery behind the stones you were examining last night."

"What are they then?" Harry asked, slipping from the bed and making his way over to the other sofa and table, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

A small smile tugged the corners of Slytherin's mouth. "We can discuss that over breakfast."

It didn't take long for Harry to introduce himself to the sofa, table and hearthrug, and soon he was sitting down comfortably.

"So, have you allowed the house elves to visit now?" Harry asked.

"For the moment," was the reply. Shrugging, Harry called for Dobby.

The exuberant little house elf appeared with a pop, wearing a set of overlarge socks on his feet, a large jumper and a knitted hat. When he saw Harry he began bouncing excitedly.

"Master Harry sir! You have found another room! Dobby is very happy for you!" the little creature exclaimed. Harry felt a smile cross his face.

"Thanks Dobby. And for the last time, you don't need to call me 'Master'. Just Harry will do fine," he said in what he hoped was a calming voice, for the elf had stopped bouncing and was looking at him with wide eyes.

"Oh, Master Harry, Dobby could never do such a thing! Dobby is grateful that Master Harry has been so kind, but he could never go so far as to call him simply 'Harry'!" he said, ears trembling. Harry sighed, deciding they were never going to get past this.

"Well, whatever you feel comfortable with I guess. Could I have some breakfast?" he asked.

"Yes! Of course, Master Harry sir. Dobby will make you a good breakfast!" With that, he disappeared.

Harry settled back onto the sofa and looked up to meet the amused eyes of the Founder.

"You certainly have an interesting approach to servants," he commented, making Harry bristle a little.

"Dobby is a friend. I freed him," Harry explained.

"He was yours?" the older man inquired.

"No," Harry said, frowning. He didn't feel he was doing a good job of explaining. "His previous master was a complete bastard, and Dobby didn't deserve to have to serve under him. I…er," Harry hesitated, "sort of tricked his master into freeing him."

Salazar smiled. "It is pleasing to see my house is still strong."

Harry winced.

"I'm not in your house, actually," he said hesitantly. Salazar raised a dark brow.

"Oh?"

"I'm in Gryffindor," Harry said a little more firmly. To his surprise, Slytherin chuckled.

"A snake in the lion den. Oh, Godric won't be pleased." Harry looked at him, confused, and he continued. "Do you think I would not be able to tell one of my own?" he asked.

Harry frowned. He didn't like the idea that Salazar had recognised his Slytherin tendencies so easily, but then again, he was the Founder of the Slytherin house.

"I'm as much a Gryffindor as I am Slytherin," he protested, but he felt less sure of himself. He hadn't been acting much like a Gryffindor recently, what with all this skulking around.

"I am sure you are, little one. The Hat would not misplace you, although that still raises the question of why you are not in my house when you seem so well suited to it," said Salazar.

"I, uh, asked to be put in Gryffindor," he admitted. This time Salazar's brows really did rise in surprise, although his eyes didn't reflect the sentiment.

"That must have been quite the request. The Hat would not have obeyed to a mere whim," said Salazar.

"Okay, so it was quite forceful," Harry conceded. "But I had just met a really unpleasant boy who was sorted into Slytherin, _and_ I'd been told that all evil wizards come from your house."

It was only after he'd uttered those words that he realised that it might not have been such a good idea to insinuate such an idea. Salazar's eyes narrowed, and the same dark anger that had been there in the mention of Dumbledore resurfaced.

"Indeed," he said.

"I didn't mean that. I mean, I know it isn't true, but…" Harry trailed off, unsure of how to continue. "It's just that the man who started this war is from your house, and…" This time Harry checked himself before he mentioned that Voldemort was in fact Slytherin's heir.

"Yes?" Salazar prompted, but there was still menace in his eyes.

"Well," Harry floundered, hoping he still sounded sincere. "He is probably the darkest wizard in history. It doesn't reflect well on the Slytherins."

Harry was uncomfortably aware of how his palms were sweating, and he shifted nervously, trying to appear relaxed and well aware that he was failing abysmally. However, Slytherin seemed content to leave his poor cover up alone for the moment. Harry belatedly realised that he'd probably already dropped enough clues for Salazar to know _exactly_ who his heir was.

"It appears that there is much that I have missed," he stated. Harry snapped to attention. This at least, was something he knew how to remedy.

"I already managed to set something up for Helga and Rowena so that there is a stand and a spell that turns the pages of books over that they want to read," he said.

"All I will require are pertinent history books," he told Harry imperiously. "The rest is of no consequence to me." Noting Harry's surprise, he continued, "There is no reason to imbue a painting with magic if it is not used."

"You…are more powerful than the others then?" Harry asked, his mouth growing dry.

"Perhaps," Salazar answered evasively. "I suspect that they simply consider such 'abuse' of their power below them."

Harry was distracted from pursuing the matter further by the arrival of breakfast. He didn't hesitate to dip into his tea and begin to eat his toast. Somehow the house elves managed to always bring up just what he wanted.

"I've been meaning to ask," Harry began after he'd swallowed his mouthful, "because I thought you might know, but there have been…chills around the castle. Helga and Rowena reckon that it is something sucking the magic out of the castle. And," he licked his lips nervously, "the primary wards are close to falling."

Salazar's gaze immediately snapped up to meet his own. Harry suddenly found himself under a close scrutiny that made him want to squirm on the spot. When Salazar remained silent, however, Harry decided to probe.

"_Do_ you know?"

"This is a dangerous situation," the other man stated. "If the wards are failing at such a crucial time as you say, then you must endeavour to find Godric as soon as possible."

Harry was taken aback. None of the other Founder's had responded nearly as strongly, and he certainly hadn't suspected Salazar to be the one to press the search onwards.

"But I don't have any idea where he is," Harry protested lightly. "All of you had clues. Helga was by accident, Rowena was seen, and you…" this time it was Harry's gaze that sharpened. "With you it was the Chamber of Secrets," he said stiffly. Salazar merely regarded him until he spoke again.

"Why would you, under any circumstances, encase a _Basilisk_ under the school?" Harry felt his anger building inside him, and tried as hard as he could to calm himself. "Was it to wipe out _mudbloods_?" he sneered derisively. "Was it a petty reason like that?" Harry looked away before he ended up doing something irrational. "You almost killed me, you bastard."

There was a long moment of silence where Harry could feel those deep blue eyes on him once more. His lip curled unwillingly, and he tried to restrain the magic and anger that was striving to break free.

"And what happened to my Basilisk?" came the question, in one of the blackest voices Harry had ever heard.

Belatedly, Harry realised that it probably wasn't the smartest idea to insult the man who held the power in the room, but he was simply too angry to care. Righteous rage had surfaced, and he knew from experience that it wouldn't let him calm without venting it – afterwards he would have to deal with the consequences.

"I killed it with Godric's sword," Harry said, staring mutinously at the portrait, pleased to see the marginally widening of eyes at the mention of Godric. "At twelve years old, I faced down a fucking Basilisk with nothing but a phoenix and the school Sorting Hat," Harry sneered. "And for my troubles, I had a fang embedded in my flesh."

Harry held up a hand, fingers close together. "I was _this_ close to never seeing the light of another day."

Sitting back against the sofa, Harry tried to calm his breathing. Shouting and venting his anger had certainly helped, but it had taken a great measure of control to keep himself from pointing his wand at the portrait and uttering some deeply destructive spell.

Harry was struck, through the fog of his discontent, that he really didn't _know_ any destructive spells. Sure, he'd read through most of his purchased books on the Dark Arts, but he hadn't exactly managed to perform or accurately remember any. That was something that he would have to rectify, he thought. _Soon._

"And so things are shifting," came the soft murmur from above him, but Harry ignored it. However he continued.

"You are extremely powerful."

Harry was shocked out of his anger by that.

"What?" he asked dumbly. Salazar merely looked at him with another oddly scrutinising stare that masked the menace that had been there moments before.

"To defeat the king of serpents at the age of twelve," came the soft reply. "And your powers are not yet even fully developed."

Harry looked at him, confused. "I'm not powerful," he scoffed, and was startled by the delighted laugh that came from Salazar.

"Oh but you are, little one. Has it not ever occurred to you that a Basilisk is a highly magical creature?"

"Well, it _can_ kill someone at a glance," Harry said sarcastically, but his resentment had been replaced by curiosity.

"Yes, that is one of its skills. But its gaze can also hypnotise, among other things. To simply stand in the presence of a fully grown Basilisk puts those nearby into a state much like that of hypnotism," Salazar explained, his tone far more condescending than it had been during his previous explanations.

Harry frowned. After that terrible end to the second year, he hadn't exactly done much research into the beast. In fact, all he knew about them was what had been written on that scrap of paper found in Hermione's petrified hand.

"But I wasn't affected," Harry said, confused once more. To calm himself he took another bite of his now cold toast.

"Precisely," said Salazar. Harry looked up questioningly at him. "The strength of your magic outweighs or equals that of a Basilisk."

Harry blinked in surprise.

"But why wouldn't it obey my commands?" he asked remembering the attempt and Tom Riddle's scathing response.

"A Basilisk serves one master, and one master only," Salazar told him. Harry frowned at that.

"Well something can't be true. If that was the case then Tom Riddle wouldn't have been able to control it, and he certainly did," Harry shivered a little at the memory. "And you wouldn't have been able to leave it until an heir came to purge to school of Muggleborns."

Harry was shocked out of his thought by a full laugh. It wasn't at all like the high, thin sound that had emanated from Voldemort's throat, which was what he had expected. This was dark and chilling in an entirely different way.

"Is that what they are telling you?" Salazar eventually asked. When Harry nodded, he continued. "I can assure you that I had a far greater purpose than killing those without pure blood. _That_ hatred died in my youth."

"What do you mean, 'that hatred'?" Harry asked, distracted from inquiring about the other part of his reply.

"Travels do change a man, and as a pureblood myself, I came to understand the intricacies of the families." At Harry's doubtful look, he continued. "Pureblood families will inevitably be tainted somewhere along the line. It is in the nature of humanity to crave the forbidden, and at some juncture, every family adopted a Muggleborn ancestor."

Harry nodded. "I thought as much. Without Muggleborns, there wouldn't be enough purebloods to continue the lines anyway."

"A wise assumption, and a true one. It is customary to introduce bastard children into the family line. Of course," he added with a smirk, "most fathers are unaware, but it is a longstanding tradition among the female line to chose a Muggleborn sire with similar characteristics to the intended father every once in a while to prevent inbreeding. That the male line has been trained to consider paternity spells vulgar disguises their infidelity."

Harry gaped at this, before his shock resolved itself into a smile.

"Oh, this is perfect!" he exclaimed falling into laughter himself at the thought of Draco's face if he found out. What if Draco himself was sired by a half-blood or Muggleborn? When he calmed, he decided to voice his previously overlooked question.

"Really though, why in Merlin's name did you put a Basilisk into the school? How would you even get it in without someone noticing?" he asked, his irritation rising again.

"Calm, little one," Salazar soothed. "My purpose is mine, and mine alone. As for drawing it in, I am certain you can think of a way."

"Did you bring an egg in?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps," Salazar replied mysteriously.

Harry shrugged and decided to leave the subject alone. It really did make him angry, and he didn't need to get in a fight with an extremely powerful dead man, even if he was just a portrait. Settling back, he finished his coffee contemplatively.

Was he really as powerful as Salazar seemed to think? He didn't believe it, but it would make sense. Hadn't Poppy once mentioned that the speed of recovery from injury was directly proportional to magical power? And why in Merlin's name hadn't anyone mentioned this to him?

Mercury's comment at the beginning of their first Mind Arts class came back to him._ 'Even a witch or wizard who is practically a squib could take apart a powerful but uncontrolled opponent if they knew how.'_ So magical power really wasn't everything. Unless I know how to control it, Harry thought with certain anticipation.

"You said I was powerful," Harry stated carefully, setting his cup back onto the table.

"Very much so," Salazar agreed, that measuring look resurfacing in his eyes.

"But power without control is useless," Harry said. "And I certainly wasn't controlled at that age. I exploded things if I got angry. I still do."

Salazar smiled, his eyes glinting. "You underestimate the sheer weight of power required to meet a Basilisk. No lack of control could dampen that." This time his eyes took on an almost eager shade. "But with control and precision…" he trailed off suggestively.

Harry processed all this carefully. A great amount of magical power would certainly explain a lot, but still…

"How difficult is it to transfigure water into blood?" he asked. Harry couldn't help but feel slightly proud of the genuine surprise that appeared in the man's eyes this time.

"It is one of the most difficult transfigurations," he admitted. Harry grinned impishly.

"First try," he said. Salazar raised a brow, but he smiled with obvious enjoyment. "By mistake, of course."

"I am surprised that you have not had some kind of tuition to help you control and refine your powers," the older man stated, making Harry's smile fade. "It is not customary to let such things go unchecked…for others safety, as well as your own."

"Yes…that does seem odd." He looked up at Salazar seriously. "If I am as powerful as you say, then there should have been something, shouldn't there?" Harry paused and looked down, thinking.

"I faced down an adult wizard who was possessed by the spirit of the Dark Lord to get the Philosopher's Stone from the Mirror of Erised in my first year, but that was with the help of my mother's love," he mused out loud.

"In my second year, it was the Basilisk, and…Tom Riddle. In my third it was a hundred or so Dementors with a corporeal Patronus. My fourth was pretty quiet compared, but at the end of it Malfoy made me so angry that I, uh, pretty much destroyed an entire classroom with wild magic."

"Then, in my fifth year there was the Tri-Wizard Tournament, where I escaped a dragon on a broom, ate Gilly weed and swum deep under the lake to rescue my friend, went through an enchanted maze and…" he trailed off, not really wishing to go into the detail of Voldemort's resurrection, "-and witnessed the second rise of one of the greatest Dark Lords in history."

Silence greeted him. Looking up, he saw that Salazar was regarding him with such a storm of emotions behind his eyes that each was inseparable from the rest. However, after a moment this turmoil was pushed behind a strange look that left his eyes glittering with interest.

---

**Notes:** Update is a bit late, granted, but I've been busy over new years and all that. Hope everyone had a good time and such. Updates may be a bit more sporadic over the next week, but I'll try and get back into a regular pattern.

About the chapter numbers - I had to chop one chapter in two and combine it with those before and after, which means the numbers are a little messed up. I'll just keep the title up from now on.


	23. Room For Experimentation

---

**Room For Experimentation**

---

"Perhaps now would be a time to further explore my chambers," Salazar said abruptly, but his eyes remained on Harry, who was beginning to feel a little disconcerted.

"How do I get up to the next level?" Harry asked. Salazar sent him a look that could have passed for amusement.

"Now little one, have I not mentioned that you would do far better to learn through your own trial and experience?"

A true smile crossed Harry's face, and he rose from his seat, quickly summoning Dobby to take away his plate and coffee cup. Looking over to the staircase, his attention was caught by the walkway that stretched across to opposite half of the second floor.

"Salazar, why is it that there is a walkway there when there isn't from below?" he asked. The Founder looked at him appraisingly.

"Can I assume you have been raised by Muggles?" he asked with a little scorn. Harry suddenly felt a little sheepish.

"I, ah, suppose it's magic that hides them then?" he asked. "And, er, yes I was. My parents…well I suppose you'll find all that out from the books," he mumbled.

Slytherin gave him another stare before he replied. "Yes. The walkways are indeed hidden by magic. Despite that I have never had any guests in my rooms before, I always conceal the walkways." He gave Harry a slightly crooked smile. "It is one of the benefits of being attached to the Castle's magical core."

Harry nodded in understanding, and walked towards the walkway. He took a breath before stepping on to it, still not confident that it wasn't an illusion. He stopped about halfway across, and looked down on the wooden floor he'd been standing on the day before. It was odd to think that if he were below, he wouldn't be able to see the walkways he now stood on. Turning towards the portrait that hung above the door, he met Salazar's eyes.

"If someone else was below me, would they be able to see me? Or am I invisible to them just by dint of being on the walkway?" he asked, earning a chuckle from the Founder.

"Oh, it is good to have a guest who is so inquisitive. Well, that greatly depends on the situation. I believe I mentioned a Loyalty charm to you last night," he said, and Harry nodded. "An enemy would be unable to see either you or the walkway, but by that same token they would be unable to perceive the stairs."

Harry suddenly had a thought.

"Is the Loyalty charm like the Fidelius charm?"

"Very good. Fidelis in Latin means faithful, or faithful friends. The Loyalty charm works in a different way, but on the same principles. Only those faithful are identified. What I have used is a conglomerate of the two. The walkways need no Secret Keeper, but those who are not loyal to you are unable to perceive the walkway as existing."

"Similar to people who have Spectre blood in them?" Harry asked, thinking of how Opa had faded out of notice. Therefore he was surprised when Salazar's gaze snapped to his.

"Are you aquatinted with the Spectre family?" he questioned with a calm that was betrayed by an unidentifiable emotion his eyes.

Harry hesitated. "There is a Spectre here. She's my friend," he hurried to add. Salazar didn't press the question, but he seemed somewhat unsettled.

"Spectre blood works in much the same way as the Loyalty charms, and other spells in that genus, in that it hides that which is not meant to be seen. That, of course, is subject to flaws, as family and those who are extremely close or loyal can see some of what is meant to be hidden."

Harry sighed. At least that explained why Opa had been so bothered that he could see that level of detail. But that also brought up a whole new set of problems, because Harry was not family, nor did he think that he felt incredible loyalty towards her.

"Is it possible to throw it off somewhat? Like the Imperius curse?" he asked. Salazar frowned.

"You can see this Spectre friend of yours for what she is then," he mused, making Harry bristle a little at the phrasing.

"I can see her hair colour and length, but my other friends can't," Harry elaborated. "I can't tell with her eyes, but I don't _think_ that they're colourful. I can't be sure."

That same gleam of interest that had been apparent earlier had resurfaced in Salazar's eyes at this, but when he spoke it was as calm and unchanged as usual.

"Can you throw off the Imperius?" Harry nodded hesitantly "Quite a feat in one of your age, but not unexpected," he murmured before continuing more firmly. "Spectre blood does react to the amount of mental strength of a wizard. Spectres can only be seen by those strong of mind, and therefore half-breed descendants of them bear the same characteristics, although weaker."

Harry made a noise of understanding before making to cross the rest of the walkway. However, he was stopped by Salazar's voice ringing out to him.

"Careful how you walk, little one. Things aren't quite as they appear to be."

"Are you telling me that the rest of the walkway is an illusion?" Harry laughed.

"Exactly right," he replied. Harry abruptly stopped laughing.

"Then how do I get across?" he said nervously.

"Use your mind, little one," came the reply, and Harry couldn't help but smile a bit at that. He had a feeling that he would become a lot more familiar with that particular phrase.

His brow furrowing a little in thought, he considered the options. Either he was meant to levitate himself across the rest of the way, or there was another walkway somewhere that he couldn't see. Deciding that it was probably the latter, he edged one foot forwards until he felt the floor beneath it give away.

Toeing right and left, he encountered a turning in the platform, and with a deep breath he stepped through the illusion of the handrail along the left and onto the invisible platform. Looking back, he saw that Salazar was watching him carefully. Having turned his head, he felt his stomach lurch as he saw the ground so far below him, and his feet on nothing substantial.

Trying to draw on his courage, he reached out his hands until they both rested on either invisible handrail before edging cautiously forwards.

"It may interest you to know that the blood of a Spectre is quite highly prized as protection and deception in some circles," Salazar commented offhandedly, and Harry stumbled a little before shaking his head and ignoring him. He could deal with it when his feet were resting on something solid.

The floor thankfully remained steady beneath him (even if he couldn't see it) until he reached the other side with a gasp of relief.

Some part of him wasn't surprised to see a straight walkway stretching back from where he was when he edged off the visible, the one he had originally started on not there at all.

The area he had entered was obviously intended as a study and library. There was a large desk to one side, and the walls were flanked with books and various odd items. There were a variety of quills sitting on the desk and a globe that hovered nearby. Harry noticed with amusement that there was a small vase holding a few flowers set on the desk too.

"Flowers?" he asked, a small smile tugging his lips.

"Poisonous," Salazar replied from a portrait that hung between two bookshelves. Harry gave an involuntary jerk backwards. He certainly wasn't going to ask why he kept poisonous flowers on his desk. Was everything with this man a trick? A now familiar uncertainty made Harry turn his attention back to the dark haired man in the portrait.

By now, Harry knew the distinction between people he liked and could trust, and people he liked and couldn't. Salazar, he suspected, was somebody who fell into the latter category, if anything. After all, the man _had_ wanted him in his house, and it was well known that even if Slytherins liked each other, few would trust each other.

"What were you saying about Spectre blood?" Harry asked.

"I am simply saying that the blood of a full Spectre is worth a lot, and quite useful in my areas of interest. Of course," he said with sly smile, "your friend wouldn't be worth much, so don't go draining her."

Harry choked a little at that, a sick feeling creeping into his belly. Draining blood? Just what had the Founder _done_ in his life? The sick feeling condensed into something cold and it took Harry a moment before he identified it as fear. Marginal, but it was there. His instincts had never been wrong before – he would most definitely tread lightly around the infamous Founder, just as he'd been warned.

"Point taken," Harry said, with as much calm as he could muster. Maybe Opa had a real reason to be paranoid.

Salazar made a lazy sweeping gesture with his arm. "To your right, you will find the majority of my books, although those more pertinent to my work are nearer where I experiment"

"Experiment?" Harry interrupted despite himself. However, Salazar didn't look irritated as the Dursleys or some of his teachers might have, he merely wore an expression of smug anticipation.

"Yes. You will see soon enough, I expect. Now, as I was about to tell you," he looked at Harry pointedly, and Harry made a mental note not to interrupt again if he could help it. "There are the majority of my books there. You will also find, on the far shelves, my notes and several volumes of my studies and experiments."

He shot Harry an almost daring look before adding, "These will be much harder for you to gain access to."

Harry had made a promise to himself to find out just what was inside them at the earliest opportunity. He wasn't one to pass up such a challenge, particularly when it had been so carefully pointed out to him. He considered for a moment just how much all this would be worth. It would be priceless to the wizarding world, no doubt.

"My desk," Salazar continued as if unaware of what Harry was thinking, "is mainly for writing but, as you should learn to expect, contains a few surprises. The first draw contains a few quills and parchment, should you have need."

He turned an appraising eye towards Harry before speaking. "A Slytherin to the core in some respects, little one, but far too careless yet for my liking. You will learn with time to temper your curiosity with precaution."

He strolled from his frame and into one that hung over the desk depicting a room identical to the one Harry was standing in.

"To your left are the stairs. Take them, and I will introduce you to the more…interesting parts of my rooms," he said with a smile, and he almost disappeared from that frame again, but Harry called out to him.

"Wait! Couldn't I at least look around this room first?" Harry asked, earning himself an amused smile.

"Is that what you have done with my companions' rooms?"

"Yes."

"Well, let me impress something on you," Salazar told him, leaning casually against the desk. "It is unwise to enter a large set of unknown rooms owned by a powerful wizard without first taking stock of them and making sure nothing harmful is lurking at a different level." His eyes grew a little distant. "It is a useful survival trait, I assure you."

Unwillingly, Harry felt his head fall forwards in a nod, and headed for the second spiral staircase. He would always have time to peruse the books later, he thought. Another part of his brain reminded him that he really was becoming far too much like Hermione for his own good.

---

Harry couldn't help but stare as he entered the second level. The room looked to be a large workshop, as complicated even as Rowena's Potions area. There were long desks in a light wood that ran along the walls, divided into sections with shelves above that were clearly used for writing and study, while the sections with bare wall above were pitted and charred in some places, indicating an area for testing and experiments.

There were large racks of odd tools, very few of which Harry could identify at all. At one of the desks there were several large sinks, above which a glass cabinet containing various vials and measuring equipment hung.

The entire effect of the room was one of care and neatness, but there were still a few pieces of parchment scattered on the desks, while others were stacked in piles. A few volumes had been pulled down from the shelves, and one of them lay open near the notes.

Curious, Harry made his way over to the studying area, and peered at the notes. The first few sheets he saw were covered in complex equations and the second in a script so tight and faded that he was unable to read it. However, the third sheet he came across was on the top of a pile in a much clearer script, and these had obviously been charmed to withstand ageing.

The title read 'The Theory Behind Charms That Effect The Body'. Harry began to read, still mindful not to touch things before asking for their guardian's permission. It seemed there were a whole lot more dimensions to spell construction than he had realised, such as important things, like the height of a wizard, down to the smallest things, such as what they had eaten for breakfast.

"I see you have found my notes."

Looking behind him, Harry could see Salazar's portrait, depicting a Potions lab this time, hanging from the ceiling near another walkway that branched across to the other half of the floor.

"I never knew spellwork was so complicated," Harry admitted.

"Good spellwork is. Unfortunately, most of it is not," said Salazar derisively. "But come, I believe that last night you were inquiring about the stones you have found. Besides the animation of my snake guardians, they were one of my favourite projects, and thusly one of the most successful."

Salazar strolled from his main portrait to a smaller one that hung near the bookshelves and writing area, and Harry drew closer as he followed him.

"Have you ever heard of Curse Stones?" Salazar asked when Harry stopped before him.

"I might have. Weren't they something to do with one of the Goblin Rebellions?" Harry remembered.

"I daresay that they may have been at some point," said Salazar dismissively. "What do you know of them?"

Harry frowned in thought. "Curse Stones are pretty much stones with curses attached aren't they?" he smiled a little wryly at that. "That's not much of a deduction though, is it?"

"No, it is not," Salazar agreed, his expression baring a hint of disappointment. "Curse Stones are far more intricate than that, although you have the basic principle in one." He paused and frowned, bringing a hand to rub his chin contemplatively. "Perhaps you have heard of Cauldron Gems then?"

This was something that Harry knew more about. "Snape made sure of that," he said a little bitterly, before catching Salazar's questioning expression and elaborating. "My Potions Professor. He's unfairly biased towards Gryffindors, and tries his damnedest to suck out any enjoyment I might have had in Potions."

"I see you have quite the personal history with this man," Salazar smirked. "You will have to make sure to tell me of him later. Now, Cauldron Gems," he prompted.

"Right," Harry began. "Well they're stones that you drop into a potion to change the effects of brewing. Of course, it all depends on the cauldron, material, size and shape, but spells can be tied to them too, saving the brewer a lot of charm work in some places, and helping in others."

Salazar inclined his head slightly. "And what of their negative effects?"

"Well," Harry considered the question. "I suppose that they could be added to a potion intended to heal, and change it so that it harms, but that would be difficult to do without altering the colour or scent or something."

"Sabotage," said Salazar with a smile. "Yes, they can be easily used that way, although to alter a complex potion effectively they must be added at the correct moment. Continue," he commanded.

"I…really don't know anything more about them," said Harry a little sheepishly, making Salazar's brows pull together a little into a small frown.

"I would have expected more, at your level. It seems that the school does not teach as it used to."

"Oh no," Harry hastened to counter, "the school is great, but I just don't learn much. Hermione, my friend, would probably know all about them."

"Indeed," Salazar said, expression changing to one of slight boredom. "But what I am interested in is _your_ knowledge. You're the one who discovered my portrait, not your little friend."

"Oh," was all Harry could say.

"That is something we will have to rectify," Salazar said pointedly. "There is no reason for you to be ignorant, _despite_ your…less than satisfactory upbringing."

Harry winced a little at that, a sudden panic that Slytherin might know of his unpleasant childhood rising in him, but he quickly resolved that he was merely referring to his Muggle family.

"I suppose that would help," Harry said doubtfully. The portrait was taking an awful lot of interest in his life so far, something he wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with.

"Later, later," Salazar waved off his reply. "First, I suppose a little introduction to the art of Spell Fastening is needed."

Harry nodded, and after a brief conversation with the chair beside him, he sat. Salazar was giving him that increasingly familiar look, as if measuring how much he knew, how much he would understand, and how much he should tell him.

"Spell Fastening is a difficult thing to accomplish well. It is not merely the casting of a spell over an object; it is the moulding of the spell so that it becomes an integral _part_ of the object. I am sure you understand the widespread uses for this, and can at least grasp the vague implications of a miscasting," Salazar said with a raised eyebrow. From the burnt patches on the desks, and the lack of shelves over them, Harry could guess.

"Now, Spell Fastening works in a way completely opposite to Transfiguration, in that gaseous and liquid substances are the easiest to cast on. Dense solids such as stone or metals are by far the hardest. As you might have guessed, I specialise in stones and crystals," Salazar said with an eager half-smile that tugged at his lips.

"You have already spoken of two of the brands of Stone Fastenings. Curse Stones and Cauldron Gems are individually the best renowned and most widely used. Now," he began, fixing Harry with a piercing look, "since you know a pitifully small amount about them, I will inform you."

"Curse Stones, as you so put it, are stones with curses laid upon them. The nature of the curse can be amplified or reduced by the type of stone, as well as many other effects. A certain variety and size of rock can extend the time delay before the curse sets in. Of course, finer alterations can be made, such as whether the curse is triggered by close proximity, touch, scent or sound."

Salazar came to an abrupt halt in his explanations.

"How much do you know of the Dark Arts?" he asked suddenly. Harry blinked in surprise at the change in the flow of the conversation.

"I-" Harry hesitated. "You do know that the Dark Arts seen as evil these days, don't you?"

"Yes. But what _I_ want to know, is if you know anything beyond what you've been told," Salazar clarified, and Harry paused a moment to think his answer over.

"Yes, and no, I suppose. That they're evil has been impressed on me since I first came into the Wizarding World, but I know that most of what is considered 'Dark Arts' is stuff that the Ministry don't want people to use," Harry said, trying to formulate his thoughts into a coherent response. "I have to admit, I haven't seen anything but pain inflicted with them, and that doesn't exactly endear them to me. But, I suppose I can understand that they might have hidden depths, yes. The books I bought weren't very helpful about it though," Harry added as an afterthought.

"The Dark Arts…" Salazar said, "they are beautiful and fluid, if you understand them. There is something about them that calls to a part of yourself that is not used in any other way, and thus they are not for everyone to use, although many try. Those without an understanding of darkness as something separate from perceived 'evil' will never understand," he said, with a vague air of regret.

"The Dark Arts, because they are so malleable, are the perfect compliment to Stone Fastenings. They balance out the harsh nature of the rock with a delicate tone, and when used properly can bring about results in a way that no other spell can. It is because of this unique characteristic that they are so difficult to protect against, without resorting to the Dark Arts themselves," Salazar said, light amusement playing in his eyes.

"Then shouldn't we be taught Dark Arts in Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Harry asked, not without a little amusement himself. The idea of Professor Weatherby announcing that their class schedule would now include a crash course in the Dark Arts was enough to make him crack a smile.

Salazar looked mildly alarmed. "You aren't?" he asked.

"Uh…no. There are almost no legal Dark Arts," Harry told him, a little bemused by his response. A sudden, almost pained expression crossed the Founder's face.

"There are no Dark Arts on the curriculum?" he asked. Harry shook his head.

"The subjects are pretty limited really. There's your basic ones, like Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Potions, Divination, Transfiguration and Charms, and then there's the ones that become available when you do your NEWTs, like the Mind Arts or Politics, but that's about it," Harry explained.

Slytherin remained in silence for awhile, his face shadowed and unreadable, but his eyes a turmoil of emotions. "Things have been in decline…" he murmured, before speaking in a far clearer and calmer voice than before. "And what of Wizarding Etiquette, or Wizarding Art?" he inquired.

Harry shook his head once more.

"So, you know nothing of the way the wizarding world operates, and the school is now successfully culling the already declining population of wizarding artists," he summarised.

"That would be it," Harry added glumly.

When it was put this way, Harry suddenly found himself wondering if Voldemort had a point about not letting wizarding society decline. Hadn't Ginny already proved to him just this year that he knew next to nothing of the wizarding world? How many more Muggleborns would it take before most of the traditions were lost?

"Then little one, I am afraid for your future," he turned those overly expressive eyes towards Harry, and he found himself struck by the peculiar mixture of calm and chaos in them. "If you are indeed in danger, as you have implied, then you have no hope of outwitting a wizarding-born opponent without some knowledge of our customs. Even some of the _simplest_ spells have a deep standing in wizarding custom, and if you cannot understand the customs, you cannot fully understand the spell."

"I haven't heard that before," Harry said slowly. He had a sudden mental revelation as to why Hermione studied the Wizarding world so much, and perhaps why she was so skilled at her work.

"As I have already mentioned, that is something we will have to rectify. But," said Salazar, "I have been diverted. I was speaking of the Dark Arts and their appliance to Spell Fastenings. You may have noticed that some spells feel far more fluid than others, which remain quite inflexible."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, now I think of it, I have. Like-" Harry broke off in thought. "Like Lumos and Confundus_,"_ he suggested.

"Very good. Lumos is a highly malleable charm, and comes very easily to most wizards. The Confundus charm however, is a relatively rigid one, and does not take kindly to manipulation," Salazar concurred.

"So, in theory I could change how bright my Lumos is?" Harry asked.

"My, my, how things have changed," Salazar said with an inscrutable look on his face. "When I was alive, it was a standard practice exercise in order to ascertain how far a student has progressed in their studies. We will look at that when you return with your Cloak and books," Salazar told him. "As I was explaining, the fluidity of the spell is very important, and as a rule most of the Dark Arts are spells that can be manipulated in the casting. This takes a great amount of skill and precision, but the effects are far more rewarding than those of more stable spells."

"Stable spells?"

"The Dark Arts are notoriously unstable, but it is because of that that they are an ever-changing, ever-evolving family of spells. Lumos does not compare to them, but as a relatively flexible spell, it can be used as a test on an untrained wizard to determine their magical power. The brighter the light, the stronger the wizard's control," Salazar said, spreading his hands.

Harry nodded, "I think I understand."

"This instability and pliancy in the Dark Arts is the most important factor in their use in Spell Fastening. The greater the skill of the caster, the more precise the spellwork is when tied to the stone. I could easily, say…" he gestured in thought, "create a spell that compels the victim to pick up the stone and keep it, even from a beach of pebbles." He turned a smirk towards Harry, "You would do well to scan the rocks you pick up on your next visit to the sea."

Harry himself was feeling faintly disturbed by this information. If what Salazar was saying was true, it would not be difficult to wipe out an entire beach of Muggles on their summer holidays if you had the skills.

"You could really do that?" Harry asked, his thoughts leading onwards. "Then why aren't they used in wars, like grenades or something? All it would take was one small rock, and then…" he trailed off. Salazar seemed to catch his unspoken question though.

"I could make them, yes. You could not. Even a wizard such as…Albus Dumbledore," a flash of something unnamed appeared behind his eyes as he spoke, "would be unable to create one. It is something that takes a great deal of study, and a certain…character."

Salazar paused to give Harry a moment to absorb that. The possibilities though, were buzzing in Harry's brain. If they weren't common knowledge, as it appeared quite likely that they weren't, then the Light side would have an uncommon advantage against Voldemort. Many of his servants were dim enough to not notice anything wrong with an innocuous pebble. It might even be styled to lead them right to Voldemort's lair! That is, as long as Slytherin was prepared to help him. Harry looked forwards less and less to revealing that Voldemort was indeed his blood heir.

"So," Harry broached, "the stones downstairs were spelled?"

Salazar sent him a secretive smile. "That is for later. _Apokalypto!_"

As he spun in his chair, Harry saw a section of the floor melt into a slowly revolving whirlpool of colour, growing darker towards the centre.

"After you."

---

**Notes:** '_Apokalypto_' is Greek and means to unveil, reveal or uncover. I think. I think it might be Modern Greek rather than Ancient, which was what I'd intended it to be. Nevertheless… Harry continues to be naïve to the extreme, and Slytherin's got plans for him.


	24. Stone Fastenings

---

**Stone Fastenings**

---

The mesmerising whirl of floor moved at a sluggish pace and at each turn more colours were drawn out of the wooden floor that had remained solid around the edges.

"You've got to be kidding me." Harry said, incredulous. "You expect me to just hop into that without a fight? I may act like one sometimes, but I'm not a fool, and that doesn't exactly look like it'll end up a pretty trip to the countryside."

Salazar sighed with a hint of irritation. "I think you neither a fool nor a coward. Do you truly think there would not be repercussions were I to kill a student?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What you're not mentioning is that that _thing_," he said, gesturing to the swirling floor, "doesn't need to kill me."

"Harry, Harry. Have I given you any reason to suppose I wish you harm? Did you not take a similar leap of faith when you entered my rooms?"

"I _had _to hang you back up, and your rooms didn't look like a whirlpool to the underworld. _This_, I don't need to do, and if 'faith' is all that's going to cushion my fall, I'm not going," Harry said forcefully, still eyeing the whirlpool with undue caution.

Salazar laughed, and Harry's tone suddenly sounded more petulant than forceful to his ears. "Oh, little one, you're truly a Slytherin, but you have a certain doggedness that does not come from my house. You're incautious when I feel you should be, and overly cautious when you need not be," Salazar said, obviously amused by Harry's words. "If it will help you, I will tell you what is down there," offered Salazar.

"It's not going to change my mind," Harry said firmly, but inside he was beginning to burn with curiosity. Sure, it wasn't the best idea, but had jumping down a trapdoor onto Devil's Snare been a good idea either?

"Below, are all the Spell Fastenings I have made in my life, and I tell you, it is quite a collection. Now," he said with a sly smile, "I wish to visit it and am unchanged by your decision. I will see you in half an hour. You are welcome to summon the house elves for more food, or look around my lab in the waiting time."

Salazar got up from his seat and walked towards the edge of the frame before pausing and looking back at Harry with a smile.

"You truly are a Slytherin. They do not need to vaunt the fabled Gryffindor recklessness," he murmured, before disappearing.

Harry was left standing in the absolute silence of his departure. He was filled with curiosity, but that was nicely tempered by his distrust for Salazar. However, the Founder's leaving comment had worked its way into his mind despite his best efforts, and he hadn't missed the deliberate mislabelling of bravery either.

Taking a step forwards, Harry paused, and then quickly backed up, running a hand through his hair. He glanced around the lab once more, eyes straying over the piles of paper and the burn marks on the desks. Eventually his eyes fell on to a small, innocuous looking pebble that rested on a stack of parchment.

With a growl of annoyance and deep breath, Harry stepped into the swirling floor.

---

"Goddamnit!" Harry muttered as he landed. He didn't need Salazar's smirk to tell him he'd been royally manipulated.

"I see your curiosity has pulled you through," Salazar commented, examining one hand in a casual manner.

Harry stood slowly, rubbing his arm a little where he had hit it as he landed. Travelling through a wooden floor had been different, but not dissimilar to his idea of travelling through stone in his dreams. He had fallen, the wood pressing around him as a viscous liquid for a few seconds, and then with a tingle of magic he had fallen through. Looking back, he could see an elegant set of stairs leading back up.

"Breathe, little one," Salazar commanded. Harry shot him a glare, but did as he was told, and took a breath to snap out an irritable reply.

All thoughts of retorting were wiped of his mind when he looked about the room. It was long, more like a corridor than anything else, but with a very high ceiling. Light shone from above, winking off row upon row of polished shelves. They were mainly styled to hold all manner of stones large and small, but in the distance Harry could see various other materials and shapes.

Harry couldn't help but gape. The stones around him all looked semi-precious, and they glinted and glittered in the light. He thought he could spot rubies and opals, and there were other stones in brilliant blues or pink quartzes. Beside him sat a lump of obsidian that gleamed softly. So captivating was the sight that it took him awhile to notice the tiny labels written in that same close hand on the shelves.

Peering at the nearest one, he read 'For Healing Potions', and another below read 'For Salves'. Stunned, Harry looked up at the high ceiling. Along the top was what could only be called a very long picture frame, for it ran from one end of the room to the end and back. Harry walked slowly forwards, watching as it changed from a forest scene to near the gates of a town and the doors of various houses, into a flat meadow that became a desert.

"This picture is one of my favourites," Salazar commented from his seat on a rock.

"I can see why," Harry breathed. "If you're going to be a portrait, this is the kind of painting you want as your own."

"All the portraits in my rooms are my own, and let me assure you, there are a great many more than meet the eye, as with all things," he told Harry, who dragged his attention away from the landscape and back to the glittering rocks.

"Am I in the section for Cauldron Gems then?" he asked.

"Quite. I wouldn't recommend touching anything in this room unless I allow you to. Some of them are quite…volatile," he said in a slightly sinister voice.

"I thought you said I was going to learn from experience?" Harry said with a grin, bringing a chuckle from Salazar.

"Oh I did, little one, but it would not do to have you incur some of the effects of these objects, experience or no."

With a distrustful glance at Salazar, he took another look over the stones; Harry was struck by the sheer quantity of them, all in neat rows and labelled. Some, he noted as he walked, were in their own separate compartments on the shelves, and none of them were touching each other.

"You really made a lot of them," Harry stated obviously, looking with interest at a stone that resembled a chunk of the night sky with little pinpricks of light winking softly.

"Oh yes, this was quite the entertainment for me. There is no better way to pass the time than the creation of Stone Fastenings. The one you are looking at there, for instance," he said offhandedly, "is called Instant Night."

Harry paused as he processed this, an idea occurring to him. "Do the spells affect what the rock looks like too?"

"Very good," Salazar praised him, looking pleased. "That was one of my favourites in that respect. Pick it up," he told Harry, but at his wary look, added, "It only responds to command."

Harry put forward a tentative hand. There was a cold feeling as it passed over the shelf that sent a shiver through him, but it disappeared a moment later. His fingers stopped a moment before he touched the stone, and hovered over it in indecision. Finally, he made up his resolve and picked it up.

The stone felt cool against his hand, with a ghostly, velvety texture in his palm. The small dots of light in it flickered as he passed his thumb over them, disappearing and reappearing as the digit drew near. Smiling, he turned back to Salazar.

"It's just like I thought the night sky would feel," he told him with quiet admiration.

"Oh yes, the stones tend to do that, reacting as they do to presence and touch. Some of them feel exactly as you imagine them to. Others feel like the most wonderful thing in the world – these are particularly good for tracking spells to be set on, as the target will tend to keep touching it and reaffirming contact," Salazar explained, a wistful look coming into his eyes.

Frowning, Harry peered at the rock and weighed it a little. It felt heavy – real and undeceiving.

"Try sniffing it," Salazar told him.

With a curious look at the Founder, he raised it to his nose and inhaled. With a small gasp, he did it again. It even _smelled_ of night. Experimentally, he gave it a tentative lick.

Salazar let out a spontaneous laugh this time, instead of merely sending him an amused look. Once more, Harry was struck with how odd the sound was. It was dark, yes, and cold, but it held none of the unreal chill that Voldemort's had.

"Shake it and listen," Salazar said, when he had calmed.

Doing as he was told, Harry gave the rock an experimental shake and held it to his ear. There was barely a sound, but there was a hint of something to it, a little like a breeze on a still day. A thought occurred to him, and he voiced it out loud.

"What does silence taste like then?" he asked, earning himself another delighted laugh from Slytherin.

"Little one, I am coming to like you. Silence is two rows down, and two your left."

Following his instructions, Harry picked up a lightly shimmering grey rock, and the world went completely quiet around him. Silence was an odd mix of soft and hard, and had a tendency to appear a little fuzzy around the edges if he didn't look directly at it. This time, he raised it to his mouth without hesitation, and ran his tongue along the edge. The taste was oddly absent, like the indefinable taste of the air.

Smiling, he put it back, and followed Slytherin's directions to other rocks of interest. Hunger sounded like a bell to him, and tasted oddly sugary. Drowsiness felt like the fur he occasionally encountered on animals that was almost to soft to feel. Joy was particularly nice, and even though Salazar told him that it didn't react to touch, he still felt small tingles of happiness as he held the little yellow shards. It tasted to him a bit how he imagined buttercups to taste.

After he left the section labelled 'Emotion', he wandered along the shelves looking at the variety of stones. He held one called Fire and felt his hand heat. He listened to the sound of Ice and decided he liked it. He found himself a little disappointed by the smell of the stones in the section called 'Secrecy', but they sounded wonderful.

It was a great deal of time before he had explored the whole section dedicated to stones, but eventually he entered the area dedicated to woods, metals, liquids, and even gases. Salazar talked and explained the properties of them as they went along, and by the time he had reached the end of the corridor, his mind was reeling.

The end wall was devoid of shelves but for one, which remained empty. There were a variety of slots for items, but there were three clear-cut dents that really drew Harry's attention.

"What was in there?" Harry asked. Salazar simply smiled.

"Now if I told you it wouldn't be a surprise would it?" his voice dropped a little lower as he continued. "We have a deal, little one."

Harry felt his stomach drop away from him as he tried to remember any deal he had entered into with the man. After a panicked moment of wracking his brains, he alighted on his agreement to find a few items of Salazar's.

"Oh. Yes, I'd forgotten," Harry said awkwardly.

"Nevertheless, it stands. Come, I am sure you are anxious to see the other rooms."

---

It didn't take Harry as long as he had thought it would to explore the other areas of Salazar's chambers. Once more, he was careful to cross the walkway with care, and it was well he did for more than once he came close to falling.

The left side of the second floor was an area that seemed to serve as an all-purpose Potions lab, although Salazar told him that much of it was specific for certain topics. Harry could guess what kind, once he investigated the Potions storeroom. He doubted even Snape could brew such a wide variety of poisons.

Ascending one more level, Harry emerged in a room that he had not been expecting, noting that there was a hazy room opposite but with no visible walkway between. The colouring was lighter than the rest of the place, and it leant it a more carefree air. The furnishings seemed to suggest that the room was a cross between a greenhouse and a kitchen. Several of the plants that were stationed around the place were ones Harry recognised, along with several familiar Muggle herbs.

There was a long surface and a chopping work-surface on the lengthiest wall, and cupboards above, several of which he was told were charmed to stay cold or preserve food. A simple table sat in the middle of the floor, with two chairs at either end, and a vase of decaying flowers in the middle, holding what looked to be daffodils.

"The preservation charm wore off," Salazar commented from his place on the wall, sounding a little disappointed.

"It couldn't really be expected to last a thousand years," Harry said practically. Salazar merely shrugged a little. "Let's see if any of your food is still good."

Harry walked over to the nearest cupboard, and hissed the snake-shaped handle a greeting.

"_I wish to see what is inside, wooden snake,_" Harry told it. The creature eyed him for a long moment before nodding.

"_As you command, master._"

The cupboard swung open of it's own volition, for Harry had remained standing where he was, looking with a little shock at the creature.

"It called me 'master'," he said blankly, turning to look at Salazar.

"The cupboards don't know better, as do a few others," Salazar sneered. "It was a problem I could never work out. Lesser guardians should comply without problems, but the fireplace gives you a taster of what should happen if you attempt the more valuable objects without even a simple greeting," Salazar told him.

The cupboard was a mess. Most of the food in it seemed edible, if dubiously old, but some of it had spoilt, particularly the milk, which looked as if it had grown it's own civilisation. Gingerly picking out what was unsalvageable Harry placed it on the table with distaste. Some plates had only a few bones left on them, of whatever animal had been cooked.

"Looks like you didn't clear out your room very well before you left it," Harry noted a little sarcastically.

"As I am sure both Helga and Rowena have told you, we were forced to leave in something of a hurry," Salazar said disdainfully. Harry had just finished putting the last of the spoilt food on the table when the Founder gestured with his hand and it vanished.

"Yes, they did mention that," Harry said neutrally, before heading over to the next cupboard. The contents of it were far more pleasant than the last, as this one simply contained various spices and dried herbs, and some things he was sure were traditional Wizarding cooking ingredients.

"Tell me about this Potions Professor who you claim has ruined the subject for you," Salazar commanded, conjuring a chair in his picture, and seating himself.

"Well, he's had it in for me ever since I arrived. He's the Head of Slytherin you see, and he knew my father. They were rivals, and he hates me because he hated my father," said Harry, moving a few of the jars around, interested to note that the stoppers in them had little glass snakes on them.

"And he reserves his hatred for you in particular," Salazar prompted. Harry couldn't tell from his voice or expression whether he believed him or not.

"Not at all. He loathes everyone but his Slytherins. Although, there is a particular place in his heart for Gryffindors," Harry said sarcastically, peering at a bottle of what looked like purple slime. "What's this?" he asked, holding it up.

"Essence of Moonbay Leaf. It is good in hot drinks," Salazar told him. "And what are his lessons like?"

"Informative," Harry said, after a pause. "But he makes it as hard as he can, so most people, especially people who aren't wizardborn, like me, tend to miss a lot. It doesn't help that no matter how well someone does, if they're not in Slytherin then they don't get any credit."

"And you claim this has ruined Potions for you?" Salazar asked casually. Harry shut the cupboard and turned to look at him.

"Not ruined, no, but he's made certain that I don't have the skills I could in the subject. Now, I don't do so well in all my lessons, but I know that I'm good at whatever I put my mind to, if someone takes the time to make it interesting," Harry told him frankly, before heading to the next cupboard. "I suppose Potions _could_ be interesting…there's a lot you can do with potions after all.

Opening it, he found a vast selection of cooking equipment. There were pans and strainers, cutlery and jars. Now that he thought about it, the cupboard was a lot larger on the inside than out. More twisting of the normal dimensions, Harry thought.

"Have you not considered going to someone else to learn?" Salazar probed.

"I'd thought about learning on my own, but I just don't have the time or the skill," Harry admitted.

"You will never be skilful at Potions if you don't learn from a master. Their task is to stretch you to the limit of your learning," Salazar informed him bluntly.

"Yeah, well Snape's the only master around here." Harry paused before revising. "No, I'm wrong. Rowena said she'd help me, but I feel sort of awkward asking her."

"You would do well to take her up on the offer," Salazar told him plainly. "I may have…differences with her, but she is indeed a Potions Master, and she most likely has the temperament and tools you need to develop."

"You think I should?" Harry frowned, looking for confirmation.

"I do. You would be a fool not to take advantage of what she can offer you," he told him.

"I suppose you're right," Harry agreed after thinking the idea over, making a mental note to mention it to her at his next visit.

Closing the cupboard, Harry turned to the next, grabbing the handle to open it. He was, however, thrown backwards quite forcefully, and when he looked at his hand he found a large red line down the middle like a burn. Wincing, Harry touched it gingerly – the skin was raw and painful.

"Merlin, what the hell have you got in that cupboard then?" he asked, a little irritated. It must have showed in his voice, because Salazar turned that condescending smirk on him once more.

"Something you should not be touching, obviously."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered, heading towards the cupboard to attempt sweet-talking the snake.

"_Hello, carved snake. I apologise for my carelessness a moment ago. I should have noticed your finely wrought scales earlier."_

The snake, he noticed now, was made out of metal, and not wood like the rest of the handles. It fluttered open its eyes and blinked sleepily at him.

"_Master?_" it asked.

"_I am your image-master's guest in this place,_" Harry told it. Parseltongue really needed a better word for 'portrait', he thought.

"_I have been asleep for a long time. Did he send you to wake me?_"

"_In a way, yes,_" Harry told it. "_I humbly ask your permission to open the cupboard_."

The snake looked at him with an inscrutable expression, before nodding. "_If you are the image-master's guest, and he has told you to wake me, then you are allowed._"

Harry grinned, and reached a hand to it, stroking gently down its back before opening the cupboard.

The grin faded to a shocked gape as Harry surveyed the contents of the cupboard. It was filled with the largest variety of knives he had ever seen. There were wooden ones, silver ones, some in steel, copper, and stone. Some looked as if they were made out of liquid in the shape of a blade, and others looked like they were made out of coloured smoke. There was one massive blade that looked a bit like an oddly proportioned machete, and there were knives so small that they were no longer than a finger.

"What in Merlin's name you need _these_ for?!" Harry exclaimed, still staring at them, transfixed.

"They have their uses," Salazar said coldly, making Harry look round at him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you or anything, but…" Harry trailed off feeling a stirring of uncertainty rise in his chest.

"There is no offence. As with all things in my rooms, you may look, but you may not touch without my permission," he said, his tone becoming bored, but his eyes remaining chilled.

Harry sent him an unsure smile, and after one last glance at the array of blades, he closed the doors and made his way over to one of the chairs. He sat, and noting the cold look that had remained in Salazar's eyes, he wondered what it was about the knives that had brought it on.

Stretching out a little, Harry tried to relax. The barely bought calm between them had evaporated, and now all that remained was tension. Stealing a quick glance at the Founder, Harry found that same mixture of conflicting emotions behind the cold eyes.

There was something disturbing about Slytherin, and it all seemed to lead back to his eyes. They were stunningly alive, and unnaturally expressive, but all of it was clouded by a patina of coldness that sent chills down Harry's spine. With a start, he realised what had been bothering him about them: that he had seen the same thing in the eyes of two other people - Snape and Lucius Malfoy. _The eyes of killers_, Harry thought, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. _They're ruthless_.

Harry wondered with a sudden sobriety whether he would have that same sheen over his emotions if he managed to kill Voldemort. Would people look at him warily, and give him a wide berth in the street when he glanced at them? Would the teachers treat him with caution when he became frustrated in his lessons if he was still in school afterwards?

He could remember McGonagall's face when he had transfigured the goblet of water into blood, and he ran her expression over and over in his head, trying to divine the emotions behind it. She had looked at him with surprise, but it had changed into something more fearful before being hidden behind her usual brusque manner. The quick efficiency with which she had changed the substance back should have been an indication, but it had seemed normal at the time.

What had Salazar said about blood? He'd said it was the most difficult, but hadn't there been something else, or was that something he'd read somewhere? _Blood is the most powerful substance in the wizarding world,_ he remembered

"Try the Lumos charm," Salazar commanded, interrupting his thoughts.

"What?" Harry blinked, his mind still on Transfiguration. "Why?"

"Because I want you to attempt the exercise we were discussing earlier," Salazar told him insistently. "Cast the charm, and focus on changing the light intensity."

Harry fumbled in his pyjama pockets for his wand, and experienced the same panic he had felt the night before at finding them empty.

"I don't have it," he murmured, thinking. "I must have left it upstairs."

"Left what?" Salazar asked him blankly. Harry blinked.

"My wand," he said, confused at Salazar's resolving expression.

"Ah. My apologies – I had forgotten," he said, but with a look at Harry's still bemused expression he elaborated. "I have not used a wand since I was an apprentice. Wandless magic was far more common in my day I suppose," he mused.

"Yes," Harry agreed. He'd read about the reduced number of wizards with the talent for wandless magic. "Nobody knows why it is either."

Salazar laughed, causing Harry to turn another inquiring look to him. "Your contemporaries have become complacent and indolent. Wands are crutches, available to the weakest wizards. Wizards that in my day would have been forced to either exert some self control, or abandon their magic all together. Wands weren't available to any but those who had the skill to create their own, and those people in turn had little need for them but to train apprentices."

He stood and gestured for Harry to do the same. "Now, it is still early, so you should be able to return without having to explain your…" he eyed Harry with a mixture of disdain and mirth, "-state of dress. Come back this evening, and bring your Cloak, books, and of course, your wand."

"I will," Harry promised.

---

**Notes:** Coursework is really catching up with me recently. Sorry people, but I need to focus on my schoolwork, and fanfiction is eating up my time at an unreasonable rate. I should be able to post updates at least once a week, but expect them to come a little slower. There are still a large number of chapters to go, so no worries about this being abandoned at such an early stage, but I need to concentrate on RL things a bit more diligently than I have been.


	25. Freeing The Fairy

---

**Freeing The Fairy**

---

The walk back to the Gryffindor common room was uneventful and Harry only encountering one student, who looked as if they were returning from the Quidditch Pitch. In fact, he barely registered them in time to duck behind a statue without being seen, so deeply was he engrossed in thought.

He mulled over the time spent in Salazar's rooms, and came to the conclusion that it was one of the oddest and most unsettling experiences he had had, not including watching Voldemort's rebirth, and it all led back to the least known and most feared Founder. Slytherin was as welcoming and reassuring as he could be, but there was something in his manner that set Harry on edge. After living for years with the Dursleys, through necessity he had become quite adept at reading people. It meant the difference between a meal and an empty belly. When he had come to Hogwarts, the skill had transferred quite easily, and it had kept him out of real trouble many a time, although he had often interpreted the wrong signs.

However, when he had been confronted with Salazar, he had been confounded. There was no question in his mind that the man had killed in his life – at the very least the number of poisons in his Potions lab told him that, but there was something other than the hardness in his expression that made analysing him difficult. _It should have been relatively easy_, Harry considered. The man's eyes were so expressive that they should have given away clues like the house elves gave away sweets at Christmas. Instead though, there was almost too great a mass of conflicting emotions in them that Harry felt as if he was staring into some swirling mass of colours, each indistinguishable from the next.

The found had been…pleasant – mainly, but it was all undermined by a brand of calculating menace that Harry associated with several of his most hated people: Snape, Lucius and Voldemort. All of them had wanted something from him at some point, and there was that same feeling coming from the Founder.

The problem was, he couldn't for the life of him figure out _what_. He had agreed to fetch some of Salazar's relics scattered around the castle, so it couldn't be that, but it unsettled him.

He briefly recalled the conversation they had had about Snape, Salazar probing him openly about the man – Harry had considered it peculiar at the time, considering that the renowned master of subtlety and misdirection had questioned him so blatantly. Still he had answered, if only to try and find out for himself what Salazar had gained from it.

The rooms had been shown to him so openly – another action that left Harry puzzled. A secretive man such as Salazar wouldn't reveal so much to a boy he had never even met before would he? All of it was so deceptively open and undeceiving, leaving Harry with the feeling that he was walking into a trap.

_Led by my own curiosity_, he thought. That really was his greatest fault. Inevitably, it wasn't simply his reckless bravery that led him into disaster; it was his irrepressible curiosity. Over the summer, ever since that awful night in the graveyard, it had made a transition to books as a source of information applicable to him and his everyday life rather than something divorced from him, and he had devoured those he had with him at a frantic pace. He had been desperate to learn enough so that the next time he faced Voldemort, he would be able to stop the people around him being killed, not to mention saving his own skin at the same time.

It was that same curiosity that was filling him with the desire to return, despite the feeling of danger. _Or perhaps because of it_, he thought. There was so much to discover still in those rooms. He knew that there was much for him to find in Helga and Rowena's rooms still, but he was savouring his explorations like eating the last bar of chocolate over the summer, knowing that he wouldn't taste anything like it again for a long time.

Salazar's rooms however, he knew he was in no danger of finding everything at once, and when Slytherin had prodded him into looking over the whole set of rooms, he had let go of his hesitation and investigated everything he could with a burning interest.

His mind was still on the discoveries he might make when he entered the common room. However, he was jerked out of his daydreaming when he surveyed the scene in front of him.

Hermione had been talking to Ron, but they both turned with identical expressions of relief and worry on their faces when he entered. Harry flinched a little when Hermione's face morphed from relief to anger, and she strode towards him.

"Do you have any idea how worried we were?" she shouted, stopping a few paces from Harry, her hands balled into fists.

"Er-" Guilt welled in him, and he tried to push it away. He didn't _need_ to feel guilty about this – it wasn't his fault! But…he couldn't exactly tell them that…

"I was woken up with Ron shouting up the girl's staircase for me, telling me that you were gone, not even dressed, and you had _forgotten your wand!_" She ground out. "Where were you going?" she demanded. "You _know_ how dangerous it could be for your out at night!" her expression faded from anger into worry as she caught a hold of herself. "I'm sorry Harry, it's just when Ron found your bed empty…" she trailed off.

"It…it was scary, mate," Ron admitted, coming to stand next to Hermione and looking very pale. "I woke up, and you were just gone. I…I thought you'd been lured out of the school or something, especially when I found your wand still here."

"It's all right," Harry reassured them, but it didn't sound very sincere to his ears. Sighing, he smiled slightly at Hermione and gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry I worried you. Why don't we sit down, and I'll tell you about it?" he suggested gently, watching Hermione's almost teary expression.

"Yes, do tell us, cousin dearest," came a sharp voice from Harry's favourite chair by the fire.

Harry moved past his two friends to the fireplace, and was greeted with a frown from Ginny, who was curled up in his chair, her dark red hair glowing slightly in the firelight.

"Are you angry at me, Ginny?" Harry asked.

"Yes," she replied shortly, shooting him a glare that was ruined by the anxious cast of her face before turning back to stare at the fire. "I went and checking with your 'friends in high places', but you weren't there either."

Harry sighed again, before moving forwards and pulling her into a hug. She hesitated a moment before wrapping her arms around his back, and he rested his head on hers.

"I'm all right, okay? I'll tell you what happened…" he hesitated before lowering his voice so that Ron and Hermione wouldn't hear, "-along with the whole story later, 'Kay?"

"S'pose," she mumbled into his pyjama top. Moving away, she resumed her seat in a far more relaxed position. "So, you going to tell us what you're doing out in your night-clothes still?" she asked with a smile, but her eyes remained concerned.

"Yeah," Ron said, dropping onto the sofa. "They aren't exactly the best things to be wandering around the castle in. Specially with the chills."

Harry ran a nervous hand through his hair before taking the nearest armchair and warming his hands against the fire. Hermione sat on the edge of the sofa too, watching him carefully as if he would disappear off if she took her eyes away from him even for a moment.

"Harry?" she called.

"Yeah, I know. Just thinking about how I'm going to explain it," he said, before slumping back into his seat and looking at them seated before him, three pairs of worried eyes trained on him.

Taking a deep breath, he began. "I've been sleepwalking, I guess you'd say. It started around the time we were learning about Animagus Transformations in Transfiguration," Harry said, avoiding meeting any of their eyes directly for more than a few moments.

"But that was over a month ago!" Hermione exclaimed. "Why didn't you-"

"Yeah," Harry interrupted glumly. "I've ended up pretty far away too. One time I woke up in the Upper Sector."

"That's a long way," Ron said, pointing out the obvious.

"Uh huh," Harry agreed, chancing a glance at Ginny. She was regarding him with a sharp gaze, almost certainly linking up his sleepwalking to their talk of dreams at the beginning of the summer.

"Where did you go?" Hermione asked quietly in an overly careful voice, as if asking someone about a lost loved one. Harry found it mildly irritating.

"Second floor," Harry said, before hurrying to dispel their shock, "but nowhere near the Myrtle's bathroom," he lied.

Hermione and Ron seemed placated, but Ginny remained looking thoughtful. He had discussed his ideas about where Salazar's rooms might be, and she had no doubt added that to her suspicions about his dreams, coming to what were likely to be the correct conclusions.

"But Harry, this is bad! Sleepwalkers are particularly vulnerable to spells and attack, and you might end up leaving the castle!" Hermione exclaimed. Ron frowned.

"So it could be You-Know-Who then?" he asked. Harry shook his head.

"I don't think so."

"But how do you know?" Hermione asked in a slightly panicked voice.

"Well, he couldn't really lure me out of Hogwarts could he?" Harry pointed out. Hermione deflated a little, but still looked worried.

"I don't know Harry," she said quietly. "He's got in before. He might not even need to get you out of the castle to attack you."

"If you know spells to stop me leaving the dormitories, please do cast them," Harry said sarcastically, and Hermione flinched a little at his tone. Guilt resurfaced, but he pushed it away again – she was overreacting to it all, he reasoned with himself.

"What are you dreaming about?" Ron asked suddenly, looking thoughtful.

"I can't really remember," Harry half-lied. He couldn't remember all of it, but he didn't want to let the two of them in on his private mental world.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, looking as if she didn't particularly believe his answer. Thankfully, Harry was saved from replying as Ginny cut in.

"Give the boy a rest will you?" she said with a sigh. "He's been wandering around the castle all night in the freezing cold."

Harry blinked, remembering something. "Was there another chill tonight?" he asked anxiously.

"No," Hermione told him with a frown. "It was odd. The pattern hasn't been broken before. And I can't seem to find anything substantial about magical leeching in the library," she added, looking disappointed. "I don't understand it – there has to be something! Even the entries on Grindelwald were so brief as to be useless."

"And Dumbledore's still missing, so we can't ask him either," Ron said irritably. "Great time for the bloke to do a fainting spell."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, scandalised. "He was boosting the wards! It's not his fault, and he was doing everything he could to help!"

Harry winced a little at the use of 'was' as if the headmaster was already dead. There hadn't been hide or hair of him since the accident, even in the hospital wing, and everything had carried on as if nothing was wrong. Still, rumours were flying round the student population, although Harry and his friends were the only ones who knew what had really happened to him.

"I'm going to go get dressed," Harry told them, cutting off the impending argument and heading towards the stairs. He could almost feel their eyes on him as he walked away.

---

Harry had just got out of the shower, and was now pouring over his new trunk, picking out clothes, when he heard a tapping at the window. Walking over, he opened it to admit a dark tawny owl with a letter clamped in its beak. Taking it, he absently gave the creature a few treats before shutting the window after it.

Tracing the untidy scrawl of his name on the top of the letter, he felt a smile break over his face. He would recognise that writing anywhere. Carelessly flopping onto his bed, he unfolded his godfather's letter and began to read.

'_Harry,_

_Moony will be visiting Hogwarts in two days, and he'll be bringing his favourite dog with him too. We hope you're around, because we both miss you greatly._

_I hope your 'Etiquette' training is coming along well, and those books we sent helped. You'll have to tell us about it when we visit, and we'll give you some pointers._

_We'll be visiting for Christmas as well._

_See you soon,_

Snuffles' 

With a broad grin on his face, Harry reread the letter to make sure he had understood it correctly. Remus and Sirius were coming for Christmas! He'd have to do his Christmas shopping soon, but it would be worth it to be able to see them.

Still smiling, he refolded the letter and walked back to his trunk. The parchment he tucked into a hidden compartment, and drew out a few clothes for the day. It would be a good time to go for a walk and perhaps drop in on Hagrid. Since a glance out to window showed it to be snowing, he pulled out a scarf and gloves as well.

He was about to leave when he remembered his purchases from the day before. His visit to Dreamwood Market seemed years ago rather than only a day, but he could remember the books he'd bought, and the various curiosities.

It was with a start that he also remembered the fairy he'd bought in the darker section of Dreamwood Market. Hurrying back over to his trunk, he rummaged through it until he found the large glass jar.

They had learnt about fairies the previous year in Care of Magical Creatures. They were quite different to the Muggle idea of them as tiny little men and women with wings. Instead, they had large black eyes and pale almost translucent skin. Some of them had poisonous bites, but Harry couldn't remember which wing shapes indicated poison. Their wings were silvery and pale, only gaining colours in the summer months when they bred.

The fairy Harry had bought was curled up pitifully at the bottom of the jar, its large hands and feet tucked around it. When Harry peered closer, it watched him with large, docile eyes.

Biting his lip, Harry made a snap decision. It might bite him, but the chances were that it wouldn't be fatally poisonous, and it was unfair to leave it cooped up. Twisting the lid, he opened it with difficulty and held the jar at arm's length.

The fairy remained curled up for a moment, and Harry came close to reaching in and picking it up. Suddenly, however its wings twitched and soon became a blur of silver. Harry was reminded strongly of his first Quidditch match, when he discovered what animagus form he was to take.

As he watched, the creature slowly rose out of the jar, hovering and observing him for a long moment, before speeding up and around the room. It did several loops and swerves, and Harry laughed, re-corking the jar and putting it back in his trunk.

"Like being free, huh?" he asked, and the fairy did another loop in response. "Well, enjoy it, I'm not going to be caging you. Just make sure you don't get caught again," he told it.

Turning back to his trunk, he removed the Spheres he'd bought, along with a length of leather to hang them on. Threading them onto it, he tied it around his neck, and took out the instructions to reset them. He was nearing the end of the lot he'd bought, and had become quite familiar with what they all felt like when a soft pressure on his shoulder made him jump. Turning gently, he saw the fairy sitting on all fours, eyeing him unblinkingly.

"Hey there," he said soothingly, hoping desperately that the creature wasn't about to latch its teeth into his ear lobe.

Therefore he was quite surprised when it reached out with its odd, three-fingered hands and picked up on of the spheres. He couldn't help but laugh when it shook the thing, twitching its large pointed ears at it. Startled, it flew off and landed on the end of the bed above him.

"No, no it's all right, little thing," Harry murmured soothingly. "Just me laughing, see?" It blinked slowly at him, before fluttering forwards and landing on his hand, making an odd chattering noise.

"I can't really understand you," Harry told it. Chattering still, it reached forwards and picked up one of the spheres again, examining it with painstaking scrutiny. Harry let it, and when it was finished it made an oddly affirmative noise and flew up to land on his head and play with his messy hair.

"I guess you'll be staying awhile then," Harry smiled. It would be an interesting experience to have a fairy around before it made it's own way off.

---

The common room was starting to fill with the few other students when Harry came down the stairs, his Invisibility cloak tucked into one pocket and the fairy sitting on his shoulder, peering interestedly around. Slowly, the conversations stopped as people noticed his odd companion.

"Harry," Ron said slowly, "is that a fairy?"

He broke out into a wide grin, and the creature made a little snickering noise before flying over to the redhead and tugging his ears.

"Yep," Harry agreed.

"Where-" he began, but Harry cut him off.

"Ask Ginny," he told him.

"Oi!" she shouted from across the room. "It's your fairy."

Harry shot her his most charming smile before striding out of the portrait hole, the fairy close behind. He listened, amused, to Ron's questioning voice and Ginny's indignant response as the Fat Lady closed behind him.

He was still smiling when he sat down for breakfast, which was partly because of the fairy's investigation into the breakfast food. The creature had made a disgusted noise at the coffee, but had quite happily dug its hands into the jam pot, and was currently eating entire handfuls with a long pink tongue.

He was buttering his second slice of toast when his friends fell into seats beside him, Ginny on his right, and Hermione and Ron on his left.

"So," Ron said, in between bites of his food, "where did you get the fairy?"

"Dreamwood Market, yesterday," Harry said casually, and was rewarded with a shocked expression from the redhead.

"When did you visit there?!" he exclaimed.

"I told you, yesterday. Ginny's been introducing me to Wizarding places," Harry continued, repressing the smile that threatened to break over his face at Ginny's amusement.

"Ginny?!" Ron exclaimed again.

"Yes, Ron. Your sister, Ginny. The girl sitting next to me," Harry deadpanned.

"I know who she is!" Ron said irritably. "But how did you get passes?"

"Honestly Ron, I just went and asked McGonagall," Harry said, unable to restrain his smile this time.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Hermione cut in, before Ron could state the obvious yet another time.

Harry shared a look with Ginny before answering. "You didn't ask," he said simply. "Don't tell me you didn't notice we were gone for the better part of two days?"

Hermione at least had the decency to blush. Ron simply looked confused.

"Two days?" he asked.

"That's right, brother. Checker Square, then Dreamwood Market," Ginny said smugly, as Ron's face fell.

"Checker Square…" he moaned. "You got to visit Patchworks…" he trailed off and theatrically put his face in his hands.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry's head snapped up, and his eyes met familiar dark ones. A shiver went down his back as he thought of the similarities between Snape's eyes and those of Salazar's, although there were dramatic differences. Whilst Salazar's eyes were very much alive, Snape's glittered like some rock – something cold and dead. Odd, considering that Snape was the one still walking around.

"Yes sir?" Harry gulped, trying not to let his nervousness show.

"What, is _that_?" the Potion's Master asked, gesturing with one elegant movement at the fairy struggling to reach the last of the jam at the bottom of the pot.

"It's a fairy, sir," Harry replied blandly.

"Yes, I know it's a fairy," Snape snapped. "What I want to know, it what it is doing here."

Harry fiddled anxiously with the necklace of spheres. "Well, I freed it," he explained.

"That still does not cover why it is _still here_," Snape said slowly, stressing his words.

"It's a…er…" Harry trailed off, watching with mild horror as the fairy flew gently towards the man before him.

Snape seemed frozen in indecision, and the creature landed on his shoulder, lifting up one lock of lank black hair with its jam-covered fingers and shaking it. It made a small chattering sound that sounded to Harry like laughter, and then did the unthinkable: poked the universally feared Potion's Master in the nose.

"I think I'm done here!" Harry exclaimed, grabbing the fairy and sprinting from the hall. "Thanks for your concern Professor, I'll make sure to take good care of it!"

He left just in time to hear: 'Fifty points from Gryffindor for untrained pets', before the doors closed behind him and he headed towards Hagrid's hut.

---

"I take back any reservations I had about you," Harry told the fairy. "You're brilliant. But you have to be more careful, or Snape will turn you into a potion," he warned it. The fairy made a rattling sound in the back of its through and tugged Harry's hair.

It didn't take long for Harry to settle into a massive armchair with Fang drooling on his leg, a cup of tea in his hand and a plate of rock cakes before him. Hagrid was as happy as ever to see him, and had insisted that Harry tell him all about the fairy.

"Awful poachers, they are, to catch a fairy an' put it in a bottle of all things!" he said vehemently, shaking one finger in the air. "Ministry allows all this, will yeh believe it?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Harry said, thinking of Fudge and his bluster. "I would have bought more, but they were just so expensive…" he trailed off.

"They do tha'. Catch a load of 'em, then sell 'em to all sorts 'a folk. Most of 'em that buy fairies aren't the sort yeh want to run into in a dark street, if yeh know what I mean. Dark wizards, they are," Hagrid said with a frown. "Now, I want yeh to promise me yeh won't go into those places no more. Don't know where yeh got it, but it can't 'ave been anywhere respectable."

"I won't Hagrid," Harry promised, although he mentally crossed his fingers as he did so.

Hagrid nodded approvingly. "There's enough goin' on a' the castle without yeh goin' lookin' for danger," Hagrid said, worry coming across his large face. "What with Dumbledore still sick, it's a wonder anythin' is getting done 'round here. Situation's getting' worse, I tell yeh."

"What situation Hagrid?" Harry frowned.

"The wards, 'arry. They're fallin', and without Dumbledore getting' better, there ain't nothin' we can do 'bout it," he explained, before shock came over his face. "I weren't supposed to tell yeh that."

"It's all right Hagrid," Harry placated him, but it felt as if his stomach had just dropped into his feet at the news of Dumbledore. "I already knew about the wards." He stood, taking a rock cake to give to the Giant Squid on the way back up. "I really should get going."

"'Course yeh do. An' if yeh ever need someone to look a'ter yer fairy, I'm the man! I'll see yeh later 'arry!"

---


	26. Alterations and Apprentices

---

**Alterations and Apprentices**

---

It was late afternoon when Ginny managed to locate Harry in the Upper Sector, not far away from Helga's corridor. He was sitting, staring out over the landscape before him, the fairy darting in and out of the arches.

"Hey, Gin," he greeted her.

"What's eating you cousin?" she asked, joining him at the window and looking out over the lake.

"Too many things," he said wearily. "I suppose I should tell you the whole story of last night." She nodded, red hair bobbing at the edge of his vision. "The sleepwalking part is true, but it was that same dream again, which you probably already guessed," he added wryly. "I sleepwalked to practically the same corridor as Myrtle's bathroom Gin," he said, his expression becoming sober. "That's the second time that's happened, and each time I can barely remember what's happening."

"Second time?" Ginny questioned him, looking shocked.

"The first was awhile ago," Harry said, waving it off. "During a chill. It was the second time that the chills had changed. Now the noise of waves of water doesn't stop, it just wraps me up in it, and I walk along in a daze to…well, the second floor," he said casually, but he remained anxious inside. The connection with the Chamber of Secrets was eating him away with worry inside.

"You didn't mention that the chills had changed," Ginny said quietly from beside him, and he turned to look at her.

Against the pink of the setting sun, she looked pale and ethereal. She had cut her hair since the summer, and it now hung below her ears in thick red locks. Harry guessed that Opa had helped her with it, because it had a similar style. She seemed suddenly so much older than the shy girl he had met on the Platform of 9 ¾ in his first year.

"I forgot, I guess," he admitted. She tore her eyes away from the grounds below them, and Harry was surprised to see them wide and sad. Blinking, he pulled her into a hug, and she squeezed him tightly.

"I was so worried…when you didn't come back, and I couldn't find you," she said quietly. "And you tell me you've been sleepwalking to...to…the Chamber of Secrets entrance…and Dumbledore's still sick…"

Harry hummed a little calming noise, and reached a hand up to stroke her hair. "I'll be fine Gin. We'll figure this out, I promise. And some day I'll kill that bastard Voldemort, and we'll be able to live happily, without looking over our shoulders all the time," he said softly. It sounded like a fairytale to him even as he said it, but he focused on it nonetheless. He had to believe that things would start to go right when Voldemort was dead, or he'd have nothing to fight _for_.

"But what if you get killed?" she exclaimed, pulled away to look at him. "You can't go after that madman!"

"If I don't, he'll come after me," Harry shrugged, but inside that cold feeling of doubt was growing. "I don't want to have to play by his rules anymore coz."

She seemed to calm a little, and looked at him with wide blue eyes. "No, I don't suppose you do. But if you're going Harry, I'm coming with you."

Harry came close to protesting, but instead he simply closed his mouth. When the time came, he'd leave without telling his friends, and make sure there was no chance of them following him. He didn't want to survive a battle only to find out that all the people he loved had died.

They stood in silence for a long while after that; each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Harry thought gloomily of the future. How long would he be able to hold Voldemort off, now that he had returned to his body? He'd only won by luck the last few times it seemed, and he had certainly stood no chance against him in a duel. _Well, that will have to change_, he thought darkly. He wasn't prepared to face him helplessly once more. _The next time we meet, I'll give you a taste of what I can do_.

"You said that something else happened," Ginny said softly, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yes. You probably guessed already, but I found another portrait," he paused. "Slytherin's. I was on my way to talk to Helga about it when you found me."

"You didn't look much like you were on your way," she pointed out.

"No, I suppose not," Harry agreed. "I'd stopped to think for awhile."

There was another comfortable stretch of silence. "Salazar Slytherin. What is he like?" Ginny asked softly.

"Confusing," Harry admitted. "He is pleasant, mostly, but I don't trust him as far as I can throw him. He's got dark hair, like in the sketch we found, but the drawing didn't do justice to his eyes. They're…alive," Harry said, unable to describe them, and feeling a little embarrassed to be describing another man's eyes.

"I want to meet him," Ginny said suddenly, startling Harry.

"No," he said forcefully. "Neither you, nor anybody else are going to meet him. He's dangerous and manipulative," Harry said, but some part of him was unsure, not to mention aware of just how hypocritical that statement was.

"You're meeting him," she pointed out.

"I'm used to people manipulating me," Harry sighed. "You're trusting and lovely, and I wouldn't change that for the world. You shouldn't end up being played around with, and…well, it's sort of arrogant to say this, but I think he'd use you against me if he found a way."

Ginny looked at him for one long moment, before turning away again. "I suppose you're right. Look what happened the last time I played around with a Slytherin – and that was just a memory."

Harry looked at her sharply; wanting to contradict what she was suggesting, but unable to find the right words.

"Come on," he said lightly. "We need to speak to Helga."

---

Helga's rooms were as warm and comforting as ever, and they soon found themselves seated in their favourite places on the worn sofa before the fire. Dobby wasted no time in bringing them tea and cakes, which the fairy tucked happily into.

In contrast to the bright and cheery rooms, Helga was looking at them with some sadness.

"You know then," Harry observed.

"I know," Helga said wearily. "He is the same as he ever was."

"How is Rowena?" Ginny asked suddenly, and Helga looked at her in surprise.

"She is…not taking it well. Yes, yes, I know," she said as Harry opened his mouth to speak. "We told you to find him, but it was necessary. It simply encourages old memories to resurface, and Rowena and he did not get along well."

"I always thought it was Gryffindor and Slytherin that had the rivalry," Harry mused.

"Oh yes," Helga chuckled, remembering. "Rivalry was what they had, but they also got along extraordinarily well. It was Rowena and Slytherin that had the rift between them."

"Why?" Ginny asked, a frown on her face.

"It began as simple dislike," Helga explained, "but it grew into something more. Then somewhere along the line, it became hatred," she said sadly.

"Then why on earth would she get me to find Salazar's portrait?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Because the castle needs the protection, Harry, and without all four of us there will not be a chance," Helga told him with a faint smile.

"She didn't even give a hint that she disliked him so much," Harry wondered. "I thought it was some simple argument."

"She hides it well," Helga agreed. There was a moment of silence, in which Harry took a few more sips of his coffee, before Ginny broke it.

"Were they lovers?" she asked, making Harry snort in surprise, and choke on his mouthful of coffee.

"She's perceptive, isn't she?" Helga asked Harry, a smile breaking across her face.

"They were then?" Ginny insisted.

"At one point, yes," Helga said evasively.

"Were you and Godric?" Harry asked, unsure.

"Merlin, no!" Helga exclaimed. "That's possibly the most horrible thing I've heard you utter!" she told him, but there was a twinkle in her eye that set Harry to grinning himself.

"It would be a little too typical for you to all have been paired off with each other," Ginny pointed out, wearing a small smile herself.

"Quite," came a dark voice, and Harry's head snapped up, only to find himself staring into those vibrant blue eyes as Salazar approached from the back of Helga's portrait. "Helga, my dear," he said, raising the other Founder's hand to his lips. "And another young one," he said, looking out at Ginny before doing an elegant bow. "A pleasure to meet you…?" he trailed off.

"Ginny," she supplied, a guarded look coming across her face.

"Oh?" he said, expression brightening. "Interesting…" his sharp eyes found Harry, and they gained that odd glint once more. "And you little one…we have much to discuss. Remember our agreement," he told him and turned to Helga. "I wished to talk to you, but I can see that you are busy."

"Good day Salazar," she replied, in a polite but cold tone that Harry had never heard her use before, and Slytherin paused to stare at her for a long moment.

"Very well." With a nod to the occupants of the room, he stepped out of the frame.

"I had hoped that Rowena would visit if I left the frame open," Helga said wearily, when Salazar had left.

"I didn't like the way he looked at you," Ginny said, looking at Harry.

"Me neither. It was too calculating," Harry sighed. "But nevertheless…"

"What?" Ginny probed.

"Nothing," Harry lied.

"Then what was that 'agreement', he mentioned?" Ginny asked, her voice becoming suspicious. Harry sighed.

"I agreed that I'd visit him again this evening and bring some history books as well, okay?" he replied, conveniently missing out the part about the Cloak. "He just made it sound like something big."

Ginny looked for a moment as if she was going to retort, but instead she turned away, staring pensively into her tea. Harry breathed a small sigh of relief, and looked away. He felt a bit guilty at not telling Ginny the whole truth, but he didn't want her worrying or even worse, following. He hadn't liked the way Salazar had looked at her either. It was too measuring.

"Harry," Helga called, and he raised his head to meet her eye. "I…feel I should warn you about him. He is a snake, through a through. Snakes are beautiful and captivating creatures, but they're venomous. In the same way, Salazar may seem trustworthy, but he will not hesitate to exploit that trust. Do not be drawn in by him," she warned.

---

Harry slammed his bag down in front of Salazar's portrait and raised his head to glare at the man, who was currently sitting and looking as unconcerned as seemed humanly possible.

"You bastard. You just had to come strolling in and make everyone suspicious, didn't you? Ginny's been trailing me for _hours_ just to make sure that I didn't come see you, and all because you sauntered in an dropped comments that made it seem like I'd made some 'great important pact' with you," Harry grumbled.

He had barely managed to escape his redheaded friend, who although she had dropped the subject of his 'agreement' had pursued him doggedly since they left Helga's rooms. Helga's warning hadn't helped that either, as Ginny had obviously been anxious, and nothing Harry had done had seemed to reassure her.

"I'm getting fucking written warnings about you now too!" Harry growled out. "Every portrait I see tells me 'not to trust the snake'. Even the bloody _snakes_ in the castle are telling me to beware of the 'king of adders! What is this, some conspiracy that everyone is in on but me and you?" he yelled.

Then he gasped as the air was jerked from his lungs, and he found himself floating from one foot, now at eye-level with Salazar. The Founder leaned forwards slowly, his dark eyes lazy and hooded.

"You would do best not to lose your temper, little one. Remember who holds the power in this building," he said softly, and Harry was sure he felt breath ghosting across his face as he spoke.

Harry suddenly found himself back on the floor in a painful heap of limbs, the impact jarring his bones. Inside he was cursing himself for his complacency in keeping his temper in check. Hadn't he vowed not to let it run away with him? Salazar's sudden show of magic scared had him, as did the casual way in which he did it.

"Come," Salazar said. "It has been a long day, and I have not had the best of responses to my return. My patience was not at its best when you arrived, but a little spellwork will calm us both," he said, disappearing from the frame as it swung open. Harry guessed that it was as much of an apology as he was going to get.

For a long moment he sat, still on the floor, gathering the courage he needed to enter the rooms, suddenly glad that he had left his fairy outside. He was filled with a mix of conflicting emotions. He was scared of what Salazar could do, even as a portrait, but he was curious, ever so curious about how they were going to modify the cloak.

Pulling himself up from the floor, he stepped over the threshold, restraining a wince as the portrait slammed behind him. Looking behind him, he saw that the portrait was empty there too. Shrugging a little, he headed to the stairs, and soon found himself standing before the fireplace.

"Sit, little one," Salazar ordered, gesturing to the sofa before him. "I have been doing much thinking, both over our conversations and my past." Harry watched him, intrigued, any remaining irritation fading. "During my years of life, I learnt much of worth, and taught many students. However, unlike my peers, I never took on an apprentice."

Harry swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as he caught an inkling of where the conversation was going.

"You have the power, intelligence and curiosity to propel you far in whatever discipline you chose to pursue, but you lack an adequate teacher, one that is able to guide your studies and growth in such a way that will allow you to survive in the world," Salazar told him, and this time the glint of calculating interest in his expression was not disguised.

Harry gulped once more, and tried to think clearly about what the man was offering. _The skill to fight and win_, a voice whispered in his mind. Whatever the warnings he had been given, Harry couldn't deny that the Founder was both knowledgeable and fascinating. He remembered his perusal of the Stone Fastenings, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

_He wanted me as a student_, he thought. All those assessing looks, the questions about his teachers, the shock and pleasure at the discovery of his magical power – it all made sense now. What had confounded him, he now understood. He didn't want something from him – he wanted to teach him.

But was that any better? If he consented, then he would be increasing the chances of falling into the man's traps by a thousand-fold. _But what traps?_ He thought. So far he had seen no indication of any psychological traps, only physical ones such as the walkways or the whirl-pooling floor. _The work reflects the mind_, he thought. It wouldn't be wise in the least, but at least it would be _interesting._

"Little one, there is no time limit on your decision," Salazar cut through his thoughts. "In fact, I insist that you take your time to think it over. I can provide ample reading material on the subject so that you may better understand the commitment – for both of us. Even if you refuse, I will vow to provide assistance in everything I can."

"Why…how can you make a decision to take me as your apprentice when we've spent a grand total of a few hours talking?" Harry asked with disbelief.

Salazar didn't seem perturbed by the question, he merely smiled. "I need no longer than that to see that it would be worthwhile."

Harry blinked slowly at him. He could detect no hint of deception in his voice or expression; there was no fault in Salazar's sincerity here. Suddenly, with a wrench, he remembered something.

"You might rethink your offer once you read up on my life," Harry said more glumly than he had intended. "It's not a pretty thing to be helping me fight."

With that, he emptied his book bag onto the table, and started leafing through the volumes and reading out their titles. "There, 'Lord Voldemort's First Rise To Power', 'You-Know-Who and The-Boy-Who-Lived', 'The Life of Harry Potter'."

Salazar regarded him with raised brows. "I sincerely doubt that any book could change the opinion I have formed."

"Yeah, well, decide that after you've read them," Harry mumbled.

"It appears that we both have reading to do. Before we begin work on your Cloak, it would be better if you investigate these tomes," Salazar said, and two books came floating away from the shelf.

One was a medium sized book reading 'A Full Account of Apprenticeship', and the other was a slim volume entitled 'The Ritual of the Apprentice'. Frowning slightly, Harry nodded and reached for the slim volume, opening it to read. The language was quite archaic, but Harry had by this time become used to reading old texts.

He opened it to the first page, but was distracted by the books he had brought floating before the portrait, three in a row, and all the pages turning simultaneously.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Salazar smirked.

"As a portrait, I am not bound by the brain's ability to absorb information. Of course, I adjusted my portrait slightly to accommodate an increased processing of knowledge…" he murmured.

"You can just read an entire six pages like that?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Quite," was the reply.

Shaking his head, Harry turned back to his own book, and began to read at a much slower pace than the Founder.

It appeared that most of what he had assumed Apprenticeship would be was quite unfounded. The teacher taught, but it was the teacher's task to guide and help the student in everyday problems, moulding them into a functioning adult.

It was also the practice of the teacher to request that Masters in other subjects provide and share their knowledge if the teacher didn't have the skill to continue teaching in an area. Harry assumed that the other Founders would be the ones helping him – Salazar had already recommended as much with Rowena, a woman he obviously disliked. Surely that proved some care about his education.

Not only was there an emotional bond formed, but a magical one too, Harry was surprised to note. At the beginning of the apprenticeship, and magical contract of sorts was formed, the clauses subject to the pupil and teachers wishes. Generally, however, they set a time limit, with the option that all magical bonds be severed in the case of extreme problems (the book noted that major arguments and disagreements were common, and only something truly unforgivable should break the contract).

In this way, the apprentice was put in the care of the teacher, and under their protection. As time progressed, and the level of trust did, so the magical bond strengthened, and only an utterly unforgivable breach of trust could damage it. The bond gave the teacher a measure of power over the apprentice, but it also imbued the teacher with a responsibility to protect and guide the student.

The practice of the apprentice was to accept a teacher who was magically matched to them, and skilled in areas that interested them. _Well, Salazar certainly is_, Harry thought. Even if he harboured reservations about the Dark Arts, from what he had read and heard of them, they were looking less and less threatening and more and more intriguing.

Not only that, but he was being offered the chance to learn from one of the school's Founders. The man may have died a thousand years ago, but his portrait had accumulated a thousand years of knowledge. Harry was also reassured by the book that a teacher that had never taken on an apprentice was best – the magnitude of the bond between them was of a far greater degree, as it was not coloured by the residues of other bonds that remained behind from previous apprentices.

But did he really want an emotional and magical bond with the founder of Slytherin house? All those warnings, from Rowena and Helga, Ginny's doggedness, and the whispers from all the portraits around the school. What could have made even the snakes warn him against Salazar?

_But none of them offered to help me, did they?_ Harry thought with a pang of bitterness. Not even when he had told Rowena and Helga of his life and troubles had they offered anything more than an 'if you need help with your potions some day'. _Not even Dumbledore_, he thought mutinously. _Not one of the teachers at school who knew I was magically powerful and unstable offered help_.

He had a madman after his head, and he would need all the help he could get. Besides, hadn't Helga mentioned that Godric had got along with the man well, even if there was rivalry? If the founders of both houses had liked each other, then there really wasn't anything to hold him back except his own caution…was there?

Snapping the book shut, he looked up to find Salazar staring at him with an inscrutable expression. "I-" he began, but Salazar cut him off with a gesture.

"What did I say about considering it?" Salazar said with a knowing smile, and Harry couldn't help but feel that the man had pre-empted his answer already. "We will travel to the lab, and we will work on your Cloak. You will get a feel for my teaching in that way," he told him.

Harry closed his mouth, and after a pause he nodded. Standing, he nervously navigated the walkways and climbed the stairs to the lab. However, at Salazar's gesture, he crossed the second walkway over to the Potions lab.

"You will need to brew a Stability Potion," Salazar informed him. "It, as the name suggests, stabilises the sensitivity of the Demiguise hair and lets spells take to it with greater ease."

"What do I need then?" Harry said, taking a breath.

"First, open the cupboard on your far left," Salazar instructed. Harry was both irritated and half-pleased to find that Salazar still wouldn't open the cupboards for him, and Harry spent a good five minutes having a battle of wills with the snake guardian before he was allowed access.

Inside was a vast variety of Potion's brewing equipment. Harry removed a complicated set of apparatus designed to purify the potion once it was brewed, and set it up as commanded. Salazar gave him instructions in a cool, clear voice, never chiding him, but traces of amusement tinged it at points where he struggled to follow them.

Once the glass apparatus was arranged, Harry lit the fire beneath a silver cauldron, and chopped, diced and poured the various ingredients he needed, alternately stirring and waiting. Finally, Salazar told him to turn the heat down and let it simmer for ten minutes. All through the process, Salazar had prodded him into remembering the steps he had forgotten, not telling him which ones, but forcing him to find out for himself. It was all in all a much more pleasant process than working in Snape's classes.

In the end, Harry sat back, exhausted. He pushed his hair back from his sweaty face, and wrinkled his nose a little at the thought of smelling of potions as Snape always did. It certainly explained the man's lank hair anyway – working over a cauldron for an extended period of time tended to make even Harry's unchangeably messy hair lie in greasy clumps.

"Salazar," Harry said, addressing the Founder by his name for perhaps the first time. It felt odd on his tongue. "What did you do to make even the snakes in portraits warn me about you?" he asked, brow furrowed with thought, and a small hint of worry. He hadn't forgotten the man's earlier response to his anger, and he would hate to see what he could do if he was angry himself.

"I admit, their reception was not what I had expected," Salazar said, expression growing distant. "Rowena and Helga have already established a foothold over the portraits, and I was never greatly liked among them. Oh no," he said, correctly interpreting Harry's deepening frown, "I was respected, and even feared, but they do not _like_ me."

"Why?" Harry asked, feeling a little as if he was missing something obvious.

"When you have three other portraits working against you, it does not engender trust. Godric made it a competition, but Helga was closer to Rowena and therefore sided with her. Of course, Rowena never _liked_ me," he explained, in a peculiarly emotionless voice that was sharply contrasted by the split-second of raw hatred that had appeared in his eyes.

"But the snakes-" Harry began.

"Are their own creatures. The snakes that I have created and left in each portrait are not creatures you are likely to spot," Salazar told him smoothly, leaving Harry gaping.

"You put spies in _every_ portrait?" Harry asked, incredulous, thinking of the sheer number of portraits around the school. Salazar's responding grin was almost feral.

"Brilliant isn't it? The beautiful thing is that their occupants don't even know it. Some have worked their way into the frames as decorations, and others are simple indentations on chairs or shelves, or a little golden curl on the spine of a book."

"But…how?" Harry asked, shocked and awed. Even if the portraits didn't like him, the man had still managed to have a hand in everything.

"Whilst I was creating my portrait, I was also cultivating vast numbers of serpents," Salazar explained. "I created spells that bound their souls to my own, and planted the seeds of eternal loyalty. When I had finished the portrait, and poured my own soul into it, theirs followed. From there I, as a portrait, was able to manipulate them into their present positions."

"But…" Harry trailed off, trying to pick which question to ask first. "Did all the snakes die then?"

"Regrettably yes," Salazar said, voice becoming dark. "It was not the happiest period of my life, surrounded with the deaths of my serpentine brothers and sisters, but it was necessary."

"Does that mean that all the furniture has the soul of a snake in it too?" Harry asked, feeling a little queasy at the thought of it.

"Yes, very good. I selected each for their character and loyalty," Salazar explained. "The cupboard you opened to remove the equipment is an albino viper, and those in the table you are working on are several king cobras."

"Oh," Harry said blankly, unsure of what to make of this new piece of information. He wasn't sure whether he was impressed or repulsed, or both. "When you…put your soul into the portrait…what happened?" he asked with morbid fascination.

"I came close to dying as I ever have, but the very fact that my soul was instilled in an object aside from my body kept me alive," Salazar said, a dark look coming over his face as he recalled something that clearly only he could remember. "I cared for my unconscious body for two months before I awoke, and it was a further four years before I recovered fully. The configuration of the portrait did not prevent my death as other darker vessels for the soul would, but it lessened the chance of it occurring naturally."

"My three companions did not have the plans I did, and they could not understand my lack of recovery. It is a terrible thing to lack the better part of one's soul, and not to be taken on lightly," he said darkly.

Harry was silent for a long moment as he thought this over. The entire tale sounded both unreal and gruesome to him. He couldn't even practically imagine something like that happening, but another glance at Salazar's eyes confirmed it.

"I-" he began, but Slytherin cut him off.

"Take the potion off the fire, and decant it into the largest beaker."

---

**Notes:**

So, things finally get moving. Next chapter might, but probably won't, be delayed as I have an exam on Wednesday.


	27. News

---

**News**

---

Harry watched the last of the potion fizz and splutter through the glass tubes, landing as a silvery grey mass in the beaker below. With the impurities removed from it, he was free to alter his Cloak.

Carrying the beaker gently, he followed Salazar back to the Experimentation Lab, and set the rapidly cooling potion on a surface near the dipping sinks. At Salazar's instruction, he poured it into one of them, and watched as the potion swelled and rose to fill the entire area of the sink.

"Take out your Cloak, and let it fall gently into the mixture. Be careful not to trap any air bubbles beneath it," Salazar ordered.

Harry removed his Cloak, but hesitated. It was possibly his most precious possession, and the only thing of his father's that he owned. It had seemed a good idea to experiment with the spellwork, but a potion put the whole project into the realm of destructive, and it filled Harry with a reminiscent sadness at the idea of it being ruined.

"Are - are you sure this will work?" he asked hesitantly.

"I promise," Salazar replied steadily.

Harry bit his lip and took another steadying breath, inhaling the familiar dusty scent of the Cloak before raising it and letting it drop gently into the liquid. As it hit the surface Harry couldn't help but gasp, for the usually indefinable colours came alight, moving and shifting as he watched. Mesmerised, he lowered the cloak yet further, until it was resting entirely in the Stability Potion.

"Now comes the interesting aspect," Salazar told him, staring with glittering eyes from his frame. "Do not worry about damage being done to the Cloak in the potion. The entire point of the mixture is to create a stasis of the object."

Harry let out a breath of relief as a weight he didn't know had been present lifted. "So what do I do?" he asked nervously.

"Withdraw your wand, and perform the charm I exactly as I tell it to you. Attempt a practice first of all," Salazar told him.

It took Harry several times, but he was soon able to perform the variant of the Loyalty charm that Salazar had shown him without a hitch. Taking a fortifying breath, he turned towards the sink, and at Salazar's order, he did the spell. For a moment, the cloak glowed with an unearthly light under the shifting surface of the potion, and then fell back to the steady, swirling colours it had been before.

Following Salazar's instructions, he performed the spell twice more, and each time the glow emitted from the garment became brighter and brighter. Finally, the Founder pronounced that it was complete, and instructed Harry to remove the cloth. The fabric came out of the potion dry, and with a conjured mirror charm Harry tested the cloak once more.

Swinging it over his shoulders, he was relieved to find that his body disappeared as normal. As the fabric caressed his shoulders, an odd tingle went through him, and it made the cloak feel different. There was nothing fundamentally changed, but his expectations for what it should _feel_ like had been usurped. Harry told the Founder this.

"Interesting," was the only reply he got.

"What is?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Nothing of value," Salazar replied briskly. "Let us move on."

Harry opened his mouth to pursue the issue, but Salazar cut him off. "Your Cloak so far is of good make, but it is inadequately equipped, most likely because it was a project to be used for experimentation rather than regular use," Salazar told him, looking thoughtful. "It has no silencing charms, no spells to deceive the senses, and none to repel those who come nearby without their conscious knowledge."

"Uh," Harry began, thinking back to his first few lessons on the presence of magic. "Wouldn't somebody notice if there were that many spells on it?"

"The beauty of the fur of the Demiguise," Salazar told him smugly, "is that it masks magic from detection. It is in the nature of the creature to hide not only from sight, but from magical detection, which is one of the reasons that it is so troublesome to pin spells to."

"Then, can we add all that?" Harry asked.

"You tell me," Salazar ordered, and Harry was momentarily stumped.

"Well," he began, thinking back over what Salazar had explained to him the previous evening, "if there's a strong base spell, then surely we can tie the other spells to it. But by adding the Loyalty Charm variant, we unbalanced it a little – which was why we needed the Stability Potion," Harry said slowly, looking to Salazar for confirmation.

"Yes?" the Founder probed.

"So…would we have to saturate it in Stability Potion to keep the spells stable?" Harry asked, frowning, before correcting himself. "No, that wouldn't work, because then the fur wouldn't react…"

"What would stable the Cloak then?" Salazar prompted.

"I don't know," Harry admitted, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose you could add more spells, but that would only unbalance it further."

"Would it?"

"I don't know," Harry repeated.

"Think," Salazar encourage him, ignoring Harry's comment.

"Look, I really don't know. It would make sense if there was a kind of 'positive' and 'negative' in spells that would balance each other out, but as far as I know, it isn't that simple," he said, beginning to get irritated.

"Oh, the complacency of youth," Salazar sighed, a smirk tugging his lips. "It is no wonder you are not learning, if you cannot sustain the pursuit of information." His smile widening, he added, "The lion may only eat his kill once he has caught it."

"Stop with the stupid word games!" Harry ground out, his temper rolling in again. "It's not my fault that they don't teach us this stuff!"

"And, on that strain of logic, it is not their fault that you cannot learn," Salazar countered calmly.

"Look, you smug basta-" Harry's rant was cut off with a gasp as he was once more jerked into the air, hanging from his foot and dangling before the Founder.

"Little one, what have I told you about your temper?" Salazar asked him with the same amused calm that had so infuriated him, before his expression became cold. Harry gulped a little, but his anger still remained.

"Not to lose it, but you don't give me a choice with all your stupid games-" The air in Harry's lungs was tugged out as he was given a rough shake by the invisible hand that held him aloft.

"Again, little one," Salazar commanded, and Harry took a deep breath this time, pushing his anger off the surface as much as he could.

"You told me not to lose my temper," Harry repeated with difficulty, feeling the increasing pressure in his head as the blood pooled.

"How does it feel to swallow your pride, little Gryffindor?" he asked. "And why do you think you must not lose your temper?"

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from lashing out at the cool disdain in the man's voice. _Just a portrait, nothing more,_ he repeated to himself again and again, until he could trust himself to speak.

"I don't know," he said stubbornly.

Salazar regarded him for one long moment before he felt himself released, and he fell to the floor in a heap. Harry couldn't help but let out a groan of pain as he twisted to avoid hitting his head, and landed badly on his shoulder instead. Sitting up, he gingerly massaged the muscles and sent a glare at Salazar, who responded with one elegantly raised brow.

"When you have calmed, perhaps you will consider the question with greater thought," he paused, looking at Harry critically. "In answer to your queries, there is a balance of opposites in the magical world, although they are not generally of common knowledge. Name one," he commanded.

Harry looked up at him blankly. Opposites? He hadn't been taught any of these! He didn't know! _No, Harry think, think_. There was something obvious, he knew, if only he could put his finger on it.

Something clicked in his head, like a flash of light in the dark.

"Light and Dark," he murmured. "It's Light and Dark isn't it?" Harry said, momentarily forgetting his anger.

"That is one of them, yes," Salazar agreed blandly, taking the joy out of Harry's revelation. "Another."

Harry frowned thinking harder, still unconsciously rubbing his shoulder. "Stability and fluidity?" he suggested tentatively, thinking back to Salazar's speech on the Dark Arts the previous evening.

Salazar nodded. "Go on."

"Heat and cold?" Harry said a little more boldly this time.

"It seems that you can grasp some concepts at least," Salazar murmured, making Harry bristle. "Those are the three primary opposites, and spells that contain properties of all three unsettling factors are the most powerful of all," he told him. "You can do more damage to your opponent with a knowledge of spells than by sheer power."

"My Mind Arts teacher said something like that," Harry said, trying to dispel his anger through memory. "That 'even a witch or wizard who is practically a squib could take apart a powerful but uncontrolled opponent if they knew how,'" Harry quoted.

"And he is quite correct," Salazar agreed. "Raw power is nothing against knowledge and control. And that," he said, looking Harry in the eye, "is why I wish to teach you. Raw power combined with knowledge and control would make you unstoppable if you so chose."

Harry gulped a little, the last residue of his anger fading into hesitancy. "You really think I could do that?" he asked doubtfully.

"Of course."

"I-" Harry began, before cutting himself off. "I need to think about it."

Salazar nodded, before settling back and directing him on the next parts of the spell. Harry cast a warming charm over the Cloak to balance out the spells, before applying Silencing and Sensory Deception spells.

Harry had to submerge the fabric once more in the dipping sink to cast yet another Loyalty Charm variant over the spells he had added. Salazar explained to him that the variant would cement those he had cast already, and reinforce his protection against the Headmaster's prying eyes.

Finally, Harry strung the Cloak up to let the spellwork settle and took a seat at one of the nearby desks. Now that he had time to think, he considered Salazar's offer.

He couldn't help it: the man scared him. Voldemort had terrified him, but that had been fear for his life rather than anything deep-seated. He had foiled him too many times for him to be truly afraid. The Dark Lord, although exuding an aura of darkness and power, had not filled him with the same feeling of unease. Voldemort couldn't hold a candle to the presence of the Founder – he was young and incompetent by comparison.

The problem, when it all came down to it, was trust. There was no chance of him trusting Voldemort. But Salazar…Harry could see that happening without much difficulty, and he withdrew his earlier thoughts on the matter. The founder was not - as he had first suspected – someone who did not engender the emotion. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Harry fell into the role of student to a favourite teacher so easily, and took on all the confidence in his mentor that the relationship implied.

But, just when Harry was beginning to become comfortable, Slytherin would do something that would completely destroy the amicable calm between them, such as hanging him from the air, or lacing his words with underlying threats, as with the cupboard of knives. It was those outbursts that set Harry on edge and, he thought, might be giving him an idea of what the man was really like underneath all the pleasant words.

Taking down the Cloak, Harry followed Salazar back to the sitting area, skirting the invisible walkway with a little more ease this time. When he took his usual seat, Salazar surprised him by calling for a light supper and a Wizarding drink that Harry had never heard of before.

"Call it the beginning of your induction to Wizarding traditions," Salazar told him, toasting him from his picture.

Harry raised his own glass in return before bringing it to his lips and taking a delicate sip of the violet liquid. It tasted slightly of fruit on his tongue, and was relatively mild. It was only once he had swallowed that it hit him.

Warmth spread out, crackling through his skin with a wild buzz that eventually ran down his spine with a shiver. "Woah," Harry gasped, grinning despite himself. "What was that?"

"Opalberry Liqueur. Wizarding drinks have far more interesting effects than those of the Muggle world," Salazar said casually, but as Harry was about to take another sip he interrupted him, "Steady little one. The drink reacts with your magic, and the effects of over-drinking are…unpleasant. Pace yourself."

Harry nodded, and after another sip he set it back on the table and tucked into his supper.

"Your history was…colourful," Salazar commented blandly, over a glass of painted wine. Harry swallowed and spared him a glance before replying neutrally,

"You could say that."

"You have not had an easy life, nor have you been adequately prepared to face it," Salazar observed, and Harry could feel his eyes on him.

Swallowing another mouthful of food, he spoke. "You're telling _me_. So much for the 'ignorance is bliss' theory," he said, unwilling bitterness creeping into his voice as he remembered the culmination of the last year. "Bastard gets to me every time," he muttered.

"I expect he has similar sentiments about you," Salazar replied evenly. "But I think that no matter how informative the books are, there is something to be gained from hearing a first-hand perspective on it all."

Harry sighed, setting his fork down on the edge of the plate and fiddling with the end of a lock of hair. He had known this was coming, but he didn't look forward to it any more.

By the time he had finished explaining, the remnants of his dinner were lying to the side, and he was halfway through a chocolate pudding. Salazar had remained contemplative throughout, but Harry still felt as if he were being analysed – not something he appreciated.

Setting his drained cup on the table, Harry sat back with an exhausted sigh. Talking about all his troubles in detail had sapped his energy, and it had become difficult to speak as he remembered Cedric.

"Little one," Salazar said softly, catching Harry's attention, "return to your bed. You have had much to think on, as have I. There will be chances to visit another time."

Harry paused by the door, thinking of the trek back to the Gryffindor Tower and the inevitable problems in formulating the excuses he would have to make.

"Remember, the castle will help you return, if only you remember," Salazar told him, and Harry felt a faint smile cross his face.

"I will," he promised, as he slipped the Cloak over his head.

---

Harry awoke to the feeling of small hands lifting up his eyelids. With a yelp of surprise, he jerked to the side and rubbed fiercely at his eyes, eventually groaning and looking around. His fairy was hovering above him, looking as smug as the inexpressive little creature could. Moaning, Harry buried his head under the covers and closed his heavy eyes once more.

He had returned late, and to his relief he had found that his friends had not bothered to wait up and interrogate him. Still, he was dreading facing Ginny in the morning, especially as she had been so obviously troubled after meeting Slytherin.

_Oh Merlin. Slytherin,_ Harry thought as he remembered. What was he meant to tell him, 'Sorry Mr. Founder, but I just don't trust you'? Or could he take the chance after all?

Grumbling, Harry pushed the covers back off his head. Suddenly going back to sleep seemed a bad idea. At least if he woke early he could avoid his friends and the awkward questions that would pile on top of everything else. Yawning and stretching, he headed towards the window and looked out over the grounds.

The light was still soft, but the sun was climbing the sky in a way that indicated that he had slept reasonably late.

Wait.

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn't dreamt! Thinking at a furious pace, he realised that he hadn't dreamt since the night that he had found Salazar's portrait, nor had there been any Chills. By now Harry was convinced that his dreams were connected to the Chills.

"It was him…" Harry muttered. "It must have been."

Growling under his breath, Harry threw on some clothes and jogged down to breakfast. He managed to convince his fairy to remain in his room, which was lucky, for when he arrived Snape sent him a sharp glare.

He was halfway through his toast when an owl landed beside him and dropped the Daily Prophet into his lap. The paper flopped open, and on the front page were the bold headlines 'REBEL GROUP BURNS THREE MINISTRY HOMES – DARK MARK SIGHTED!'

Gulping down his mouthful, Harry scanned the article as fast as he could. It appeared that the paper was claiming it to be a similar rebel group dressed as Death Eaters, as it had been professed at the Quidditch World Cup the previous year. However, he was completely unprepared to spot the mention of his name in the last paragraph.

'_As you all know, one Harry Potter proclaimed Voldemort to have returned in a shocking spectacle at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament last year when he emerged from the third task carrying the body of his deceased schoolmate, Cedric Diggory. He is obviously very mentally unsettled, and this reporter for one wonders whether the Boy-Who-Lived has influenced this rebel group. The prospects look grim if the famous Harry Potter has turned Dark.'_

Harry made a small choked sound in the back of his throat before removing his wand and casting a violent Incendio on the paper. If it had been bad before, it could only get worse. He should have realised that the past few months had only been the lull before the storm. How could they say that? This wasn't even an implication – it was a flat out accusation! What possible reason could the Daily Prophet have for discrediting him as 'turned Dark' and involved in an attack?

He cast a desperate glance up at the staff table, hoping to see Dumbledore there – despite his trickery the man had always helped him out in the end. Instead, he was met with a cruel smirk from Snape.

Standing abruptly, Harry stalked out of the Great Hall, the words of the article ringing in his mind. He walked without knowing where he was going, ignoring both the warnings of the portraits and the wide-eyed stares of the students around him.

How could they write that about him? How could he ever convince them that Voldemort really was back if they insisted on publishing articles about him going Dark? By the time they were all forced to notice, it would be too late, and half the Wizarding world would be in league with the Dark Lord.

Without even realising it, he ended up in the shade before the entrance to Rowena's rooms. Muttering the password, he was engulfed in shadow, and soon standing in the small, enclosed space before her portrait.

"Harry," she said in a cold voice, causing Harry to look at her in surprise and confusion.

"Rowena?" he asked tentatively. The woman before him looked indifferent and uncaring, despite her usually warm appearance, and it set him on edge.

"I think that perhaps it would be better for you to leave, Harry," she told him gently, but there was an edge of steel behind it.

Harry recoiled as if struck. "What-" he began. "What's wrong?"

Rowena just levelled a cool stare at him. "Leave," she said firmly.

Fighting back the lump that had formed in his throat, Harry tapped the rock behind him, and was once more sucked back into the dungeons. Growling in hurt and frustration, he began to hurry back towards the Gryffindor Tower. He wasn't ready to face anymore Founders.

He reached the Fat Lady and skidded to a halt. She looked down at him with a sad, almost mistrustful expression.

"Password, my dear?" she asked.

"_Cheer_," Harry bit out, and stepped through the portrait.

"Beware the serpent, dear," her voice floated through to him, and he slammed the portrait closed in response.

Ignoring the stares of a few first years directed at him, he slumped into his favourite chair beside the fire.

Everything seemed to be going to pieces. The article was as good as an open invitation to Voldemort: he would attack, and at each report, Harry would get closer and closer to becoming the leader of the rebel group. Hell, Voldemort probably even had people working on the paper from the inside. Lucius Malfoy for one. Harry knew that the man had his manipulative little fingers on all Wizarding publications but the Quibbler – that had been part of the reason Harry wanted to gain control of some of the Prophet, but he knew now it was a pipe dream. There was no way he would be able to convince Malfoy to relinquish controlling shares.

The wards were failing; Dumbledore was sick; and Slytherin was tied up in a conspiracy involving him, the chills and the dreams. His friends were worried and suspicious, and all over school the portraits were handing out warnings like sweets. Not only that, but he was nowhere nearer to finding out what was causing the castle's wards to fail, or to finding Godric's portrait.

"Practically impossible now…" he muttered, and gave a snort. If Helga were going to act anything like Rowena just had, then he wouldn't really stand a chance would he?

Bitterness and betrayal welled up in him again, and he tried to push it away. Over the time since he had found her, Rowena had become a friend, as had Helga. The reintroduction of Slytherin had ruined all that though, it seemed.

_Even the best laid plans go to waste_, Harry thought. He just hoped that these ones weren't about to.

"It has to be Slytherin…" he muttered. The space around him widened as the students saw him speaking to himself. What could the Founder say to make Rowena so cold towards him? Or perhaps he was simply reading too much into this? After all, they had been lovers once, and on top of that was a longstanding feud. It wasn't surprising that Rowena was unhappy with his return.

_But then why did she get me to bring him back?_ He thought. No, he knew the answer to that already: it was for the castle's protection. _But what if it isn't?_ a traitorous little voice asked. _What if it is simply an excuse to get rid of you?_

Shaking his head, Harry pushed those thoughts away. He knew very well that growing up with the Dursleys had left him insecure, and he wasn't about to let that make him paranoid. _And that's why you keep everyone at arms length, right Harry?_

"Stop it," he mumbled under his breath, before wincing a little at the odd looks he was getting from those around him. Talking to himself was not a habit he should get into.

Shaking his head, he stood up abruptly. He wouldn't sit by the fire worrying all day – it wouldn't do him any good anyway. He would head down to the library, and pick up one of the subjects they had been researching. It had been awhile since he had found anything useful on the Grey family, and they hadn't had any luck at all with his mysterious Family Head.

Mind made up, Harry ducked out of the portrait hole in a better mood than when he entered, and headed towards the library.

---

**Notes:** Sorry for the long wait for the next update, but I should get back on track with updates since I've had my exam.


	28. Talks With Ginny

---

**Talks With Ginny**

---

The library was quiet and dusty, the morning light illuminating streams of dust motes floating in the air. Edging through the shelves, Harry encountered only one other person, and he quickly avoided their gaze. Ducking into the familiar, small gap between shelves, he fell into his favourite seat with relief.

The seclusion of this area in the library made him feel safe and secure. He doubted that anyone had found the place before them, so deep in dust had it been. There were many sections like that in the library, all of them concealed and out of sight. He doubted that even Madame Pince knew them all.

With a sigh, Harry massaged his temples. He was going to resolve this, despite there being so many tangled threads to it all. All he had to do was organise them all.

Pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill from his pockets, he set about writing a list, occasionally sucking the end of the feather in thought. Once he was sure there were no more points to add to it, he reread it:

'_1. The Chills are the sucking of magic from the castle's wards. They have occurred at regular intervals since before the beginning of term, once in the day, once at night. They are associated with my dreams, and since they stopped when I found Salazar, they may be associated with him as well. The chills may come from an object stealing magic._'

Frowning a little, he added 'Chamber of Secrets?' and 'Voldemort?' in brackets at the end of the first point.

'_2. In trying to boost the wards in a ritual of Magicus Potentia, the staff were severely injured, and Dumbledore remains ill. (A plan of Voldemort's?)_

_3. The Daily Prophet is beginning to slander me and associate me with the Dark Arts and a 'rebel group' that is in fact Voldemort and his Death Eaters._

_4. Salazar Slytherin: i) He has offered me to be his apprentice. Problem._

_ii) He has upset Rowena who won't talk to me, and the portraits, who are giving me warnings. (Find out _why

_5. Ron and Hermione are still fighting, although less obviously, and I don't feel our friendship is what it was. How do I broach Rowena's solution of getting Ron to apply his strategy to everyday life and getting Hermione to stop escaping from life's problems into books – not an easy task._

_6. Opa is still angry with me._

_7. Voldemort is trying to kill me._

_8. The Malfoys were acting weirdly, and although Malfoy has toned it down now, he still watches me closely– creepy. Really creepy. Not to mention Ginny's not so subtle jokes about me '_liking' _him. Ew._

_9. Ginny is worried, and when she's worried, she goes all funny. At some point we're going to end up in a horrible argument or something, but until then it just makes us uncomfortable._

_10. Apparently I'm very powerful with no training (a good thing? I think not).'_

Sighing, he dropped the paper to the table once more. It didn't solve his problems, but it certainly helped order them in some fashion. Casting a simple Read-Me-Not charm on it, he tucked it into his pockets.

The last point was one that was really bothering him. He didn't want to believe Salazar, but on the other hand, he did. Whilst he didn't like to take the man's words as truth, he couldn't help but think that it explained a lot. Not to mention that it would be damn useful to be powerful. The real problem was that powerful and uncontrolled were not two words that went well together. Why hadn't Dumbledore given him some training? Why hadn't any of the teachers mentioned it? He was sure now that McGonagall had told most of the staff about his accidental transfiguration.

Mentally shaking himself, he stood. If he wasn't going to be taught, then he would learn himself. _Salazar would teach you, _said that little voice in his mind. _No,_ he thought, _I won't agree to him. Not just yet. Not if I don't know all the facts. He's…untrustworthy._

It took Harry quite awhile, but he managed to locate a book on control in the Mind Arts section. Heading back to his favourite place, he began to scan the introduction. Apparently the Mind Arts were styled towards control, but what they were learning at the moment was simply emotional control. From what Harry could see, they wouldn't be learning about magical control until the next year.

Grumbling, Harry edged through the gap between the shelves, and was about to sit down when a flash of red hair made him look up in surprise.

"I didn't know you were here," Ginny said lightly, but her expression remained tense. Harry took a seat slowly, unconsciously moving as if towards a frightened animal.

"I didn't know you were here either. Guess that makes two of us," Harry said with a slight smile. Ginny looked away and Harry sighed. Time to bite the bullet. "What's bothering you Ginny?" he asked seriously.

"Nothing." She continued to stare at her hands.

"Tell me cousin. You've been there for me when I've been low. Give me a chance," Harry asked.

Ginny turned shadowed eyes to him, and he was struck by how drawn she looked in the dim light. He hadn't noticed the tiredness, nor the dark smudges under her eyes, so caught up was he in his own problems.

"You worry me," she said softly. "But you're just going to think I'm being silly. I am," she corrected glumly.

"I won't. Promise," Harry said sincerely.

"Well…we haven't always been close. In fact," she said a little sadly, "it's only been since the summer. But since then, we've been better friends than you've been with even Hermione and Ron."

"But?" Harry prompted.

"But now it feels like you're backing away," she said, before huffing. "Oh, I'm just being a silly little girl, but you have all these secrets. I thought perhaps you'd let go of some of them when we visited the Rooms, but now _Slytherin_," she spat the word, "has come along, and it's like you're using him as an excuse to get all distant again."

She paused, looking at him squarely. "I can deal with the fact I can't visit. Meeting him, I probably wouldn't want to, but this sneaking off. Why couldn't you just tell me that you were going to visit him? I wouldn't stop you, I just want to know where to go if…if you don't come back," she murmured.

Harry blinked. He hadn't been expecting such an open look on his actions; but then again, he shouldn't have expected anything less from his youngest friend. Besides, the girl did have a point. He shouldn't be sneaking away from friends, especially ones who already knew what he was doing.

"I'm sorry Gin," Harry breathed, reaching forwards to clasp one of her hands in his. "Things have been…hectic recently. The Prophet's printing lies, and Rowena's acting oddly…" he trailed off at Ginny's slightly guilt expression.

"I, uh…might know why she was being like that," she admitted.

"Why?" Harry asked, both confused and suspicious.

"I was…talking to her when you arrived. I was angry at you!" she exclaimed quietly. "I didn't think I could see you then. I asked her if she could tell you to leave me alone for awhile…I didn't know _how_ she'd do it."

Harry let out an unconscious sigh of relief. Rowena wasn't scorning him! Although it puzzled him that Ginny had been there alone, considering Rowena's declaration that no one could enter without him. Still, the Founder did seem particularly interested in Ginny. "That's a weight off my mind," he said. "I thought she might be…I don't know. I thought she'd got tired of me or something."

Ginny's eyes widened a little, and a small smile crossed her face. "Don't be silly!" she told him. "She's not the type of person to do that. Slytherin on the other hand…" she trailed off, her face darkening.

Harry took a fortifying breath before speaking. "Gin, there's something Salazar said that I need your opinion on," at her expectant look he continued. "He…" Harry paused, swallowed and began again. "He wants me to be his apprentice," he said quietly.

Ginny simply looked at him with wide eyes for a long moment, becoming very pale before breathing, "Don't do it Harry."

"I wasn't planning to," Harry said, a little surprised by the extent of Ginny's response. Casting a furtive look around them, he cast a quick reverse silencing charm and continued.

"But there was another thing he said. He told me that I was very powerful, but uncontrolled, and that's why he wants me as an apprentice. Apparently I have a lot of potential," Harry said sarcastically.

"He's right," Ginny told him without hesitation, making Harry blink a little. He had expected her to deny it. "And you do need training. That incident with the classrooms in the fourth year was indication enough. You have to be very powerful and very angry to flatten an entire classroom."

"Oh," was all Harry could say. "I didn't believe him when he told me. But then why haven't I been trained? He said I would need training to use it properly," Harry persisted.

"I don't know," Ginny said, a frown creasing her brow. "But…perhaps…" she trailed off.

"Perhaps what?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps…well, this doesn't make sense!" she said.

"_What_ doesn't?" Harry asked again.

"Well…it's always possible that you weren't trained so that you wouldn't reach your full potential," she said hesitantly, frowning.

"But…why?" Harry said, stumped. His mind drew a complete blank as he tried to think of a viable reason.

"That's just it! It doesn't make sense! Why would anyone keep you from reaching your full magical potential when Voldemort is after you?"

Harry remained silent, head whirring. It looked like he had another problem to add to his list. Dumbledore _had_ to know that he was depriving him of much needed protection. He couldn't _not_ know. But in that case, why was Dumbledore not offering him help? Unless the headmaster wanted him to lose his next battle…

"Ginny," Harry began, mouth dry. "What happens to Voldemort if I die?" he asked blankly, a cold feeling welling up in his stomach.

Beside him, Ginny gasped, catching onto his thread. "But…he wouldn't do that…" she whispered. "He just wouldn't…"

"I think that he might," Harry replied steadily, the cold feeling turning into an icy rage. "If he casts the Killing Curse again, I'll take him with me for good. All because of this," he said slowly, tapping his scar.

"Bastards," Ginny hissed with venom, and Harry turned to look at her. The eyes that had been so dark before were now blazing with anger that Harry was glad was not directed at him. "Those bastards. All your life you've been played like a harp, passed back and forth between Voldemort and Dumbledore. Well I'll be damned if they're going to carry on doing it, and I'll kill them if I have to."

A surge of love and gratefulness welled up in Harry's chest. Ginny, his friend's youngest sister, the little redhead who had endured the Chamber of Secrets and Tom Riddle's machinations was burning with an angry loyalty for _him_, and proclaiming that she would kill the two main powers in his life for _him_. In a rush, Harry pulled her into a bone-crushing hug and twirled her around in the small space.

"I love you, cousin!" he exclaimed, and then paused when he realised what he had said. "I mean…not like…" he stuttered as he let her down.

"It's all right," she said with a crooked smile. "I love you too, cousin," then with an impish grin, she added, "but not like _that_."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and slowly, he began to chuckle. Ginny joined in, and he pulled her into another, gentler hug.

---

Awhile later, both Harry and Ginny were settled at the table, engrossed in books. Ginny had ranted a little about the Prophet's article, something that Harry was thankful for. It was nice knowing that he wasn't the only one who was angry and worried about it.

Harry had buried his nose in a book detailing wizarding families, and was referring to a book on his own life that had done some intimate research into the Potter family tree. So far he was getting nowhere, but he had discovered that his grandparents on both sides of his family were dead, and currently it did seem that his closest living relatives were indeed the Dursleys.

His confidence had been boosted when the book had mentioned that there were almost never Heads of Houses that didn't also share the family name, which narrowed the search a great deal. However, it wasn't helpful that all the accounts he found were of relatives who died: 'Old Age, Old Age, Death Eaters, Old Age, Death Eaters, Death Eaters, Accidental Fire…'

"I've figured it out!" Ginny exclaimed, making Harry look up sharply.

"Figured what out?"

"Why the Prophet only began printing derogatory articles now. There weren't any over the summer, or in school, but they've started now, and I know why," she said with a smile.

"Go on then, why?" Harry asked, mirroring her smile, but he couldn't help but feel a little anxious.

"Dumbledore must have had them in some sort of noose. They couldn't print anything bad when he had a hold over them, but now he's been ill long enough that they think it's safe to start writing all the articles they wanted to," she said thoughtfully. "Don't misunderstand me coz, I believe you, but I was surprised that the papers didn't latch onto the end of the third task last year."

Harry's expression darkened a little, but he processed what she was saying. With a sigh, he set down his book. "Yeah, I thought the same thing. But now Dumbledore is gone from the scene, they can begin the real thing. By the end of this month I'll be the leader of a Dark rebel gang pretending to be Voldemort's supporters, I'll bet."

"A little longer than that, I think," Ginny said with a smile, but there was seriousness below her humour.

Deciding to change the topic, Harry broached another subject that had been on his mind. "Do you think we should show Neville Helga's rooms?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Yes," Ginny said slowly. "And before Ron and Hermione."

Harry blinked. "Oh, you noticed, huh."

"Wasn't hard, cousin," she told him. "You haven't made any move to show them the rooms, and you've had ample time."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "It's not that I don't trust them…no. It's exactly that. Until they get over themselves and start dating each other, I can't feel safe telling them and knowing that it might come out in their arguments."

"Ron isn't the best with secrets when he's angry," Ginny agreed.

"I don't know if I want to show Snuffles and Moony either, although I did tell them I had a secret that would upstage even the Marauders," Harry admitted. "Somehow having a secret like this makes it special. The more people who know, the less it's something that's _ours_."

"I know," Ginny told him. "But Neville would love Helga, and he doesn't have to know about the others, only that he should keep it a secret. Besides, it means I won't have to go near those plants again."

Harry laughed. The last time they had visited Helga together, she had cajoled Ginny into helping him prune the plants. She had left minus a chunk of her hair, and cursing vehemently.

"So," Ginny said slyly. "All this talk of lovers arguing, when are you going to get someone to date?"

Harry blinked in surprise and then chuckled. "I have far too much on my mind at the moment to even _think_ about dating someone," he said, before adding, "and before you say it, I'm not interested in guys."

"Are you sure?" Ginny teased. "I've seen you looking at Draco a lot recently."

"Merlin! What is it with you and Draco?" Harry said in mock irritation. "For the last time – I _do not_ like him."

"Well, you know what they say about your beloved enemy…" she trailed off suggestively, but relented at Harry's raised brow. "Okay, okay. What about Snape?"

Harry choked and spluttered, intensely grateful that he wasn't drinking anything, or he would have sprayed it out of his mouth in surprise. Turning to Ginny with a look of horror, he exclaimed, "How can you even suggest that!?"

"Well," she said slowly, pretending to think. "Imagine him. He's thin, but is probably muscular – with strong arms from all that stirring of cauldrons. He's a menace with those swirly robes, has sharp, proud features, porcelain skin, alluring black eyes-"

Harry cut her off, waving his hand for mercy. "Stop, stop! First of all, he's built like a beanpole, and most definitely won't be beautifully muscled. Secondly, he's terrifying, and probably has a spell to make his robes do that. Thirdly, he is gaunt, with a hooked nose, not sharp _or _proudly featured. Fourth, he has skin that has probably never seen the light of day, and eyes like death-"

"I get the picture Harry. You wouldn't want to do him," Ginny said, making Harry splutter in indignation again. Laughing, she clapped him on the back. "You know I just do it to tease you," she told him.

"It's still disturbing. How do you even think of this stuff?" Harry asked. "Do you sit in Potions and think, 'Hmm, what alluring black eyes…'?"

"Merlin no. That was spur of the moment stuff," she said, eyes sparkling with laughter. "So, if you don't like men, what about Blaise?" she asked a little more seriously.

"Zabini?" Harry asked with a frown.

"The one and only," Ginny said, before her expression became sly again. "You know, I hear that they are organising a Christmas ball when the holidays are over. It's the perfect chance," she said.

Harry shook his head, amused. "Nice one Gin, but I can't even remember what she looks like."

"Dark eyes, blonde, petite and pretty," Ginny told him. "They're related to both the Malfoys and the Spectres, although the two aren't linked in any other way. The Spectres are reputed to magically and physically sever all contact with any families that don't remain neutral."

"The Zabinis are neutral?" Harry asked with a bit more interest.

"Yep. Along with the Greengrasses, Bones, Chesters, and the Henbanes, to name the most influential," Ginny told him, a smile tugging at her lips.

"That's quite a lot," Harry said thoughtfully. "Were they neutral throughout the first war?"

"Yes, although many of them were wiped out. These are the ones left. Many changed sides after the others were killed," she said, her voice growing dark.

"I can't blame them. I'm not sure what I'd do if the people I considered family were threatened," Harry said truthfully. Ginny looked a little surprised, but her expression softened.

"That's the way Voldemort works. Through family and other fears. I can't say I wouldn't follow him if my family was at stake, but I know that most of my brothers and my parents would probably still defy him," she paused, a haunted look coming into her eyes. "I don't know if that's reassuring or not, but I know Riddle's mind, just a bit."

Harry sent her a reassuring smile and captured her hand. "It's both brave and foolhardy to bargain for your family."

"They wouldn't understand though," said Ginny quietly.

"Because they don't know how far he would go, that's why, at least not your brothers," Harry finished for her. "Let's just hope they'll never know."

---

By evening, Harry was bouncing in his seat beside the fire. He and Ginny had cast a few privacy and silencing charms around themselves, despite the near empty common room, and the fairy was currently dozing, sprawled on the mantelpiece in the warmth of the hearth.

"Where shall we go then?" Ginny asked. Harry paused to think, before snapping his fingers as his face brightened.

"Diagon Alley! I'd completely forgotten about your birthday!" he exclaimed.

"Merry Grey's birthday, you mean."

"I suppose," Harry conceded. "But I did promise to take you shopping before school even began, didn't I?"

"I suppose you did," Ginny laughed.

"We'll be going with Snuffles and Remus, I think," Harry said. "If you don't mind of course," he added.

"Mind? Do you think I would?" she asked, amused.

"Honestly, no, but I thought it was best to ask," Harry told her. "Tomorrow I get to see my Godfather."

---

**Notes:** Sorry for the short chapter, I'll try and get the next up in a day or too, a bit sooner than usual to make up for it. Enjoy.


	29. Interrogation and Prophecy

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**Interrogation and Prophecy**

---

Rubbing his eyes, Harry shook the last of his dream from his head. Looking out over the still frosted grounds below, he tried to grasp at the threads that held the last of the experience in place.

It didn't feel like his recurring dream, but it didn't feel normal either. The slumber had been disturbed as he had woken himself with a scream on his lips. Frowning, Harry tried to recall it, and only came up with fragments of foggy images. His dream catcher didn't seem to have caught it either, but by now he was used to waking and finding it empty. He had accepted that his dreams weren't exactly normal.

Running a hand through his hair, still wet from the shower, he stepped away from the window and began to get dressed. From what he could guess, it was a little past six in the morning, and Remus and Sirius were unlikely to arrive before nine. In fact, they'd told him that they had business to attend to before they met him. Frowning a little, Harry wondered if it was to do with Dumbledore.

He made his way downstairs, walking briskly through the cold corridors, and thanking the gods that the portraits were mostly still asleep. He didn't think he could deal with anymore 'subtle' warnings about Slytherin. The Great Hall was completely empty, although the teachers had begun decorating and it was beginning to look quite festive. Harry wasted no time in taking a seat and calling up a house elf for food. The little creature greeted him enthusiastically – after all, it had become normal for him to frequent the hall early in the mornings nowadays.

He was eating the last bite of his light breakfast when a girl entered, freezing in the doorway, casting a nervous glance at him and doing an abrupt about turn and heading back out.

Perplexed, Harry looked after her, catching a glimpse of receding blonde hair. _Blonde hair, dark skin, petite…pretty_, he thought. _That was Blaise Zabini?!_ Shrugging he polished off the last of his food and left the hall himself. However, he was unable to get Ginny's suggestion out of his head, and the more he thought about it, the more appealing she looked in the glimpse he had caught of her.

Shaking his head, Harry wandered absentmindedly into the dungeons. He shouldn't even consider the idea of dating someone, let alone her. It was too dangerous, especially as her family was neutral. She would become a top target, and that was unfair to her. Not to mention, his rather appalling experiences with girls so far hadn't exactly emboldened him enough to attempt the 'sleeping with the enemy' thing, as Ron would no doubt see it.

Harry had almost reached the now familiar corridor that was the entrance to Rowena's rooms when a cold voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry whirled and faced a very smug looking Snape. _Shit, shit, shit, shit_, Harry thought. _I don't have an excuse to be here!_

"What, may I ask, are you doing skulking around the Dungeons at this time in the morning?" he asked silkily.

Harry very nearly replied with the same thing, but managed to stop himself in time. "I was going to get some Powdered Spider Legs from the, er…student storeroom," Harry fabricated.

"Mr. Potter, did you stop to considered that I can spot even the best of lies? The pitiful excuses you insist on spouting wouldn't get past even the most moronic of wizards," he told him with pleasure.

"But it's the truth!" Harry cried desperately, wracking his brains for a better excuse. "I…" he trailed off, a sudden thought occurring to him. "What time is it?" he asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"What time is it?" Harry repeated. "I – oh never mind," he said, fumbling in his own pockets for his watch. "Six forty," he read off. "Students are allowed to leave their common rooms at six."

"Five points from Gryffindor for stating the obvious," Snape said absently. "That, however, does not give you leave to be wandering the Dungeons."

"Why not?" Harry blinked, perplexed. Snape seemed about to say something to him, but appeared to change his mind mid-thought.

"Mr. Potter, please follow me. We have some matters to discuss."

---

Snape's office was adjacent to the main Potions classroom, and was suitably gloomy. The shelves were lined with jars containing various pickled animals, some of which twitched of their own accord every now and again.

Snape immediately took a seat behind his desk, but Harry couldn't help but dawdle to peer absently at the various curiosities in the room. One jar appeared to hold several pickled snakes, and the label on it was in a familiar script. It took a moment for Harry to place it, but when he realised it was with a horrible jolt.

Salazar's talk of encasing the souls of his snakes in every portrait came back to him. It would not surprise him if the man had ensured that most rooms had a spy in them too. Almost unwillingly, Harry found himself drifting over to it. The snakes appeared to be common adders with delicate brown markings over their spines. He drew closer, until his nose was almost touching the glass, before jerking back.

He could have sworn that one of them had just blinked. Shaking his head to clear that fog that was threatening to invade his mind, he turned, catching the tail end of something Snape was saying.

"-down!" the man shouted at him, looking both disturbed and angry.

"Sorry sir, I didn't hear you," Harry said as apologetically as he could.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for wilfully disobeying a teacher," Snape cut in, his face resuming its normal disdainful expression. "Sit down, Potter."

Taking a seat, Harry chanced a glance at the man before him, and managed to choke down the laughter that was threatening to escape as he remembered Ginny's comments.

_Porcelain skin, _he thought, eyeing the man's sun-starved, translucent flesh. _No, not at all._

"Disregarding your earlier impertinence and dawdling," he began, and Harry's eyes bugged at the thought of the Potions Master disregarding anything he could dock points for, "ten points from Gryffindor," he added with a nasty smile, "I wish to discuss the matter of your being present at the ritual of Magicus Potentia."

Gulping, Harry tried to direct his mind onto less nerve-wracking things. _Sharp, proud features? More like pointy and mean, _he thought sarcastically.

"I have been…delayed by certain people in pursuing you on this matter," he said softly, "but the time has come now that I will ask my own questions."

Harry could guess that Mercury had done the delaying, and he silently thanked him for it.

"Not only was it highly irresponsible, quite unprecedented and dangerous-" Snape began, and Harry tuned out somewhat, observing the disdainful curve of the man's lip as he spoke, and the way he would raise a brow at the parts that particularly amused him.

_He couldn't be muscular! He's too thin…ew…does that mean Ginny imagined him naked?_ Harry thought with disgust, and just a hint of morbid fascination. _Oh Merlin, mental images, mental images!_

"-ignorant, idiotic boy-"

_Menace in swirly robes? No. Although if he isn't using a spell to make them whip around like that, it must take some skill_, Harry mused. _I wonder how he does it._

"-inflicted permanent damage, although it would not be regrettable-"

_No, those eyes are definitely not alluring,_ Harry added to his mental list, watching those fathomless black orbs flicker with irritation. _I'd say terrifying, if I hadn't seen Slytherin's._

"What?" the man snapped suddenly, stopping his tirade. Harry gulped.

"Er, you were talking about how I was as arrogant as my father, and deserved permanent damage for my lack of discretion?" Harry suggested.

"No, you impertinent fool, what were you _thinking_?" the older man pursued, his eyes flickering with anger.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Harry chanted in his head. _He's probably a Leglimens, and he's going to read my mind, fuck, fuck, fuck._

Dropping his eyes, Harry stared intently at the grain of the desk. _Avoid eye contact at all costs, don't look him in the eye, don't look him in the eye-_

"I don't know what you mean sir," Harry said neutrally.

"I do believe that you are lying again, Mr. Potter," he said softly. Harry winced inwardly.

_What do I do? Bluff my way out? He can't read my thought like this can he? He isn't allowed to…is he?_

"Potter!" Snape barked. "Look at me when I am speaking to you."

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Harry thought as he raised his eyes. _Block surface thought, I'm in the cave, the rocks, I have to get past the cave-in, past the rocks and I'm safe_- Harry thought as he mentally dived for the cave-in, slipping through it agonisingly slowly.

A light prying feeling entered his mind, and Harry reflexively jerked backwards, pushing it out at the same time. Snape flinched slightly, and the air around them grew cold as what Harry now recognised as a magical backlash occurred just as it had with Mercury in their Mind Arts class.

"Potter-" Snape began to growl, but he was interrupted by a smashing noise in the corner of the room.

Startled, Harry stood, noticing in surprise that the jar of pickled snakes he had been examining just moments before was now laying in pieces on the floor. The snakes themselves lay surreally still among the shards of glass and liquid spreading across the stones.

Snape's eyes became very wide, and he rushed over, casting a failed _Reparo_ over the bottle. Harry, taking the distraction as a sign, slipped out of the door whilst the Potions Master was occupied, and made his way safely to the entrance of Rowena's rooms.

---

"He can read my mind," Harry said firmly. He was seated in the familiar sofa in Rowena's sitting area, nervously running a hand through his hair.

"A Leglimens cannot read minds," she corrected. "Just pick up particular images or thoughts."

"He heard me say something about Slytherin," Harry said, instantly regretting any mention of the man as her face hardened imperceptibly.

"What were you thinking?" she asked, and Harry winced a little.

"I was thinking '_I'd say his eyes were terrifying, if I hadn't seen Slytherin's'_" Harry repeated, a little embarrassed.

"Oh yes, his eyes are the most intriguing feature," she said, before letting out a little laugh. "Salazar used to be infuriated with Godric, because he could never close his mind completely. Godric told him it was because of his eyes – unusually expressive, aren't they? Still," she paused, "be more careful to guard your mind in future."

Harry nodded in agreement, before coughing a little. "I…I suppose I have a lot of stuff to talk to you about," he began, his voice becoming stronger at Rowena's encouraging nod. "Ah…most of it is quite tangled up with Slytherin," he said nervously.

"Don't waste your time edging around him. I am quite used to his malignant eccentricities," she told him tersely.

"Well," Harry said, gathering his thoughts. "He said that I'm magically very powerful."

"You are," Rowena agreed with a nod.

"And I haven't had any training," Harry told her. "So it's uncontrolled. But I'll ask you something before I start about that." He took a steadying breath and began. "Salazar told me that I should ask you if you could tutor me in Potions, considering that you're a Potions Master, and the only other one loathes me and makes my lessons and life as difficult as possible."

"Once again, he is absolutely correct," she said, surprising him. "Salazar may circumvent the truth more than is considered polite, but all of the things he says hold some grain of it."

"Oh, uh, then would you help me with Potions?" Harry said, stumbling over his words. "I'm afraid I really don't know very much," he thought to add.

"I would be delighted to," she told him before her expression became a little distant. "Ginny has in fact already asked me the same thing. It would be beneficial for the two of you to work together."

"I-" Harry began, but he paused as he thought of how to phrase his thoughts. "Salazar gave me an interesting offer, and I want to know what you think about it. Ginny already told me that I shouldn't, and I get the feeling I should agree with her," he admitted, ruefully rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ah, Salazar and his offers," Rowena murmured with a crooked smile. "Cursed candy. Sweet until you put it in your mouth."

"Well," Harry said, a little daunted by her metaphor. "He offered to become my mentor."

The colour drained from Rowena's face, and Harry watched her, alarmed. "Oh my," she whispered.

"Rowena?" Harry called anxiously. "Are you all right?"

Turning sad eyes on him, she spoke quietly. "Have you ever heard of prophecy?" Harry shook his head. "Then my advice to you, Harry, is to refuse for as long as is possible, and pray to the Gods that circumstance does not choose to play you for its pawn."

---

Sitting on a rock beside the lake, Harry picked small pieces of lichen off and watched them land on the still surface of the water. The day was incredibly still, with barely a ripple on the surface of the stretch of lake. Thin ice had formed around the edges, and Harry had spent awhile idly cracking it. He wondered what the Squid did in winter.

Rowena's leaving comment had left him unsettled, and her gently guiding him from her rooms shortly afterwards had not reassured him. Something was afoot, and Harry was almost certain that it centred on him. He mulled over all he knew about the word prophecy.

Obviously it was something preordained to happen, and something that couldn't be avoided. It was a prediction of the future, and from what little Harry had read of the Greek myths, people died trying to circumvent them.

Of course, this train of thought would lead to mean that something inescapable was going to happen to him, and Harry didn't like it one bit.

A frown creasing his brow, Harry's fingers found a small pebble, and he tossed it out over the water, watching it sink away into the blackness. Was that what was happening to him? Was he simply sinking into an obscuring cloud of problems until he was irreversibly lost?

Staring across the vast expanse of the water, Harry thought about Rowena's agreement about his power. Did he have some vast reservoir of magic, just like this lake? He certainly hoped he did, if Rowena's shock was indicative of things to come. He might as well be prepared. Recalling Slytherin's suggestion, he removed his wand.

"Lumos," he whispered.

He tip of his wand lit in a bright light that glanced off the glassy surface below. Eyeing it contemplatively, he tried to focus on it getting brighter. There was a flicker, and he thought that it had worked, but the light simply guttered and died. Shocked, he recast the charm.

"Brighter," he murmured at it, but the light remained resolutely constant. "Come on," he commanded. "Work."

Once more, the charm died, and he was forced to recast it. With a sudden spark of inspiration, Harry thought about his mental sanctuary, picturing the cave and the sound of dripping water echoing far off in the distance. With the place firmly in mind, he breathed, "Brighter."

The light flickered, obviously this time, but it didn't die away. Encouraged, he tried again, calling the underground tunnels to mind as vividly as he could.

"Brighter!" he said firmly, but was disappointed as the light refused to even flicker this time. Shaking his wand irritably, he extinguished the light and returned to staring across the lake. One thing was certain; if there were challenges to come then he'd better get ready to deal with them, and that meant getting control of his magic.

---

It was awhile later when his thoughts were interrupted. He had been mulling over all his various dilemmas, and had added quite a few to his list when a familiar voice called him away.

"Harry?"

A smile on his face, he turned around and met the smiling features of Remus. To his joy, he spotted a large black dog by his feet before he was bowled over and it began to enthusiastically lick his face.

"Ew, Sirius!" Harry laughed, pushing it off him. "Yeah, I missed you too, you great mutt. But try give me a hug next time, eh?"

Sirius simply barked and wagged his tail in response.

"What are you doing out here?" Remus asked in his gentle way, and Harry's smile sobered a little.

"Just thinking, and I've got a lot to think about at the moment," he said ruefully.

"Perhaps we'll be able to help you with it?" Remus suggested kindly, and Harry nodded.

"You might," he conceded. "But I'll tell you both later, okay? I want to just enjoy myself today."

"Quite right. Where do you want to go?" he asked.

Harry looked between Sirius and Remus contemplatively. "Well, I was thinking we could go to Diagon Alley. I'd promised Gin that I'd buy her some robes for her birthday. Unless it's too risky of course," he hurried to add, with a glance at Sirius.

"Oh, I daresay he'll be all right," Remus put in. "The few that know about him are safely contained within the castle, and they'll be unlikely to tell."

Harry frowned at the light haired man before him. "What about Wormtail?" he asked, drawing a growl from Sirius.

"Ah, that," Remus said with a strained look. "He owes you a life debt, does he not?"

"He won't tell because he owes me?" Harry asked dubiously.

"No, but I suspect that it may encourage him to keep his mouth shut," Remus said humorously, but his eyes remained sharp.

"Oh," was all Harry could say. "Well, let's hope."

"Hoping is not going to be necessary," Remus told him with a smile. "But you'll have to wait and see."

Harry looked at him quizzically, especially when Sirius became wide-eyed and whined at the ex-professor.

"Don't worry Snuffles. You won't look much different," Remus told the dog, which whined again. Turning to Harry, Remus continued. "We'll be meeting back up with you later. We have some things to attend to. Why don't you go find your friends – get yourself out of the cold at least."

"Is this about Dumbledore?" Harry asked quietly, thinking back to the man's hauntingly blank eyes.

"Yes, it is," Remus agreed softly.

"And the Order?" Harry continued, and Remus's eyes widened slightly. "Dumbledore told me," he admitted.

"And the Order," Remus agreed slowly. "We promise we'll find you the moment we're finished."

"All right," Harry agreed, standing and brushing down his robes. "I'll walk you up to school then?"

"That'd be lovely," Remus said.

---

It was an hour and a half later when Remus and Sirius met up with him once more. He was sitting in the common room by the fire, alternately chatting idly with Ginny, and watching Ron and Hermione squabble over their chess match. Harry noted absently that he had hardly ever seen Hermione play chess. He wondered how Ron had pulled her into it.

However, Harry was distracted by Hermione's cry of 'Remus', and turned to see the mousy-haired professor walking toward them, the black dog at his heels. He rose with a smile, but it faltered at the taut expression on the man's face. Even Sirius had his head hung low, although he brightened a little at the sight of Harry.

"Not good news?" he asked carefully.

"It never is Harry, but we persevere," Remus replied quietly. Turning to Ron and Hermione, he spoke a little more cheerfully. "We managed to get Floo passes for you two as well, if you'd like to come along, although McGonagall fought us on it."

"We'd love to," Hermione said politely.

"Yeah, thanks," Ron said absently, gathering up his grumbling chess pieces. "Where are we going anyway?"

"Diagon Alley," Harry answered. "But before we leave, could I say hello to you properly?" Harry said with a meaningful glance at Sirius.

"Of course," Remus said mildly. "I trust you know a few privacy spells?"

Harry grinned. "More than you could guess," he replied.

Stepping out of the portrait hole, he was followed by Snuffles. Peering about, he tried to think of the best place to go. However, the decision was taken away from him when the dog trotted off in a different direction. Shrugging, he followed, and they soon arrived at a small, underused classroom on one of the narrower corridors of their level.

Glancing out onto the corridor to check that no one was near, he locked the door and cast several privacy and silencing charms. He had barely finished when he was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug.

"I've missed you kid," Sirius mumbled, making Harry break out in a joyful grin.

"I missed you too Siri," Harry replied.

They remained silent, both simply enjoying being able to hug each other again. Harry hadn't even realised how much he had missed his godfather until he had seen him again, and now he felt lighter, as if a weight in his heart had been lifted. He didn't know him well given the limited time they'd spent in each other's company, but there was something immeasurably reassuring in knowing that there was someone out there who honestly cared for him and was prepared to protect him. A familial figure, different to his friends and their loyalty, but just as precious. Sirius represented _possibility_, of one day having a home, somebody he could call family.

"So, you're going to be an Animagus then?" Sirius said with a broad grin, pulling away. He appeared to have put on some weight since Harry had last seen him, and true to his word he was wearing some stylish black robes. However, his face still held the residues of his stay in Azkaban, although not half as prominent as before.

"Yep," Harry replied, mirroring his grin. "I know what I'm going to be too," he added.

If possible, Sirius's smile became even wider. "It's a great feeling isn't it?" he said, eyes becoming dreamy. "Just knowing that in a few more months, you'll be running over the land on four feet…"

"Or flying," Harry said, watching with pleasure as his godfather's eyes widened.

"A bird?" he asked.

"White wings," Harry agreed, before he was pulled into another hug, and this time spun in a circle.

"I should have guessed!" the older man exclaimed, releasing him again. "No need to worry about falling off your broom anymore, eh?"

"Nope!"

"I…" Sirius trailed off, expression becoming more sober. "I'd sort of imagined that you'd be a stag, like James."

Harry shrugged a little. "Me too," he agreed a little sadly. He'd liked the idea of being a stag, but he couldn't change it now.

"It would have been like old times," Sirius said distantly. "But there's no sense confusing you with your dad," he said with false cheer, before his smile faded. "Moony keeps telling me I do that too much."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he just settled for shooting a reassuring smile at his godfather. "Come on," he said. "We shouldn't waste the day."

Returning to the common room with Sirius in dog form by his side, Harry sunk into the sofa beside his friends and watches Remus attempt to hex his fleeing companion different colours, basking in the feeling of being around his friends and the two Marauders. When Sirius had finally been spelled a significantly smaller white and beige spotted dog, they made ready to depart.

---

**Notes:** Another short chapter, and the next two are around the same length so I'll try and boost the update rate to compensate. One every two days, perhaps.

Thanks for the reviews, as always they're a pleasure to read and hear what people think is going to happen as the story progresses. I checked the other day and…370 reviews? Seriously? So, I wanted to take a moment to say thanks, really, to the people who review every chapter, to the people who just drop in with a few words, to the people who write me big long reviews, and even those who are just reading the story as it goes along. It's a pleasure to know that there are people out there enjoying what I'm writing.


	30. Back To Diagon Alley

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**Back To Diagon Alley**

---

Diagon Alley was filled with bustling witches and wizards, many of them levitating boxes and presents behind them. Children crowded around their parents, pressing their noses to windows and babbling about what they wanted for Christmas. The Floo Portal was crowded, with wizarding folk flashing in and out in flares of green flames.

Harry stumbled roughly out of the fireplace, and smiled gratefully at Remus when a steadying hand was placed on his shoulder. Looking down at his robes, he was surprised to find them soot free.

"They have cleaning charms here," Remus explained with a smile when he asked. "With so many people coming in and out of the place, they're needed."

Harry nodded in understanding. Checker Square and Dreamwood Market hadn't catered for nearly so great a number of people.

When Ron had finally come through the flames, they pushed their way out of the building and into the sunlight. The weather in London was clear and crisp, and small piles of snow were against buildings, with muddy sleet trampled under their feet.

After a dispute, they chose Flourish and Blotts as a good starting point for their excursion. Harry didn't delve into the books quite as enthusiastically as he had the last time he'd visited, as he had three impressive collections of books in the Founder's rooms back at school, but he browsed lightly alongside Ginny and Lupin.

Whilst they remained downstairs, Ron and Hermione had argued their way up to the second floor, and were currently throwing sharp insults over in the wizarding Politics section. Sirius was scampering around the shop enthusiastically; occasionally picking up a book and bringing it back to Remus, who took it with an eye-roll.

Drifting away from the others, Harry made his way into the Mind Arts section. He skipped over most of the books, but he stopped at a pair entitled 'Meditation and the Wandless Arts' and 'Apparition and its Lesser Known Uses' that obviously belonged to the same series. Flipping through the first few pages, Harry found the writing style pleasant and engaging. When they exited the shop, those were the only two in his pockets.

Hermione, as usual, had bought more books than she could carry, and Remus kindly shrunk them and passed them back. On universal agreement, their next stop was Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, where Harry treated them to sundaes.

"You really didn't need to pay for that Harry," Remus told him, a small frown creasing his brow. Sirius barked in agreement, but Harry just shrugged.

"There's no point in having money if you can't spend it, and I don't think a couple of sundaes are going to break the bank," Harry pointed out economically. "Besides, it's for friends, isn't it? It's useless for me to have all this gold sitting around, because I know I'll never spend it, so I may as well enjoy spending it on people I like."

"Well," Remus said hesitantly, "if you are comfortable with that."

"I am," Harry said firmly.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said, in-between bites of his ice cream.

"Yes, thank you Harry, you really didn't have to," Hermione said.

"Thanks, coz," Ginny said with a smile.

"You're all welcome," Harry told them, holding up his hands. "Now stop thanking me and eat your ice-cream."

Awhile later, Harry managed to drag them to Sprite's Robes. The shop was just as he remembered it, small, dark, with high ceilings, but clean and tidy. The counter was unoccupied as he entered, but a bell rang with each person that stepped through the threshold, and soon a familiar figure was stepping out of a side-door.

Helena Sprite looked at him curiously before smiling and shaking his hand.

"So, Harry Potter is back to my humble little shop," she said.

"I didn't think you knew my name," Harry admitted with an answering smile.

"I didn't, but my sis figured it out. How can I help you today?" she asked, and Harry couldn't help but broaden his smile – she hadn't even flicked her eyes to his scar.

"Well, my friend Ginny needs some clothes," he said, before looking slyly at Remus, "and I daresay it's been a long time since Remus has gone shopping."

The werewolf spluttered and mumbled some excuses, but Sirius grabbed a hold of the hem of his robes with his teeth and dragged him further into the shop.

"What about you two?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione. Ron looked suddenly nervous, and Hermione blushed. "Call it my Christmas present," Harry told them.

"Well, I don't know…" Hermione said slowly.

"I don't really need new clothes," Ron said, self-consciously, tugging at his too short robes.

"I'm getting some for everyone," Harry told him firmly. "But you can help me pick out some stuff instead if you want."

Ron looked very relieved at this, and nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I'll do that," he agreed. Grabbing Ron, Harry left the rest of them to be dealt with by Sirius and Helena.

"I don't really know about wizarding fashions," Harry admitted to Ron as they browsed the racks of robes. "But they're stricter than Muggle ones aren't they?"

"I suppose," Ron said dubiously, eyeing a stunning aquamarine blue cloak with envy. "I don't know much about Muggle fashion."

"It's anything goes really," Harry told him. "So tell me about Wizarding clothes," he prodded.

"Right," Ron said, tearing his eyes away from the cloak. "Well, it depends on whether you're a man or woman, your social standing, your age and stuff. You know the stuff Malfoy wears?" Harry nodded. "Well, that's rich, pureblood garb. The way the cuffs and collars are cut shows that he's the heir, and the fabric quality shows he's rich."

Harry felt his eyes widen in surprise. He hadn't realised that the dress code was so strict. What had he been saying with his robes then?

"What about my Cloak of Smoke?" he asked Ron, who frowned in response.

"I suppose it says that you're young, and modern. Traditional wizards wouldn't wear something that…risqué," he said, making Harry laugh.

"Risqué?" he said.

"Well, you know what I mean," Ron mumbled, before cracking a smile himself. "I guess the Wizarding world is pretty odd, huh?"

"You think?"

Ron proceeded to explain to him all the little details on clothes until Harry was hopelessly lost. He said the details on the hem, cuffs and collar of a robe told the person about station – there were ones for Head of House, mother, father, Alpha male and female, heir, second son or daughter and so on.

Robe colours were generally pretty neutral, but there were some styles and colours that were only worn for ceremonies like weddings, births, marriages, adoption and so on. Also, vibrant colours were popular, but if combined with some details on the cuffs, then they indicated the occupation of a person.

"Remember the Auror robes?" Ron asked. "Well, the red means that they're an aggressive association, and the trim on the cuffs is a pattern only used for Aurors. The colours on the collar shows rank. Moody has black trim, which means he's high ranking enough to move on his own, but he isn't captain," he explained. "Tonks has blue, because she's not senior."

"Okay," Harry said slowly. "I think I got that."

Ron shook his head a little. "Sorry. Guess it's confusing if you weren't brought up with it."

"Don't worry," Harry assured him. "Now what about me?"

Ron led him to some reasonably dark coloured robes in deep greens, reds and yellows. He explained that at school they could only wear black or grey robes, but if there was something formal, then the young men would be wearing something with a sharp cut in generally muted colours.

"Bright is the same as in the Muggle world, I think. Pretty outlandish," he said.

"But a lot of people wear bright colours," Harry pointed out, thinking to all the wizards he'd seen wearing obscenely toned robes.

"Oh yeah, but you've probably only seen them in the summer. Either that or you've only met eccentrics like Dumbledore. He doesn't really count though – off the scale, that one," he said, drawing a laugh from Harry. "Seriously though, can you remember anyone outside today in really bright colours?" Ron asked.

Harry blinked, and realised that he was right. No one had been wearing luridly bright colours, rather they wore muted tones or pale shades. Nodding with understanding, Ron went onto the cut of robes.

"See these?" he said, holding up a set of dull gold robes. "They're cut at a slant near the hem – that's modern, not traditional. Now these," he said, pulling out a set of dark green robes, "are traditional. Everything is very flat, no slants or zigzags. The collar is high, and they go to your ankles."

Harry nodded again, suddenly noticing the differences as they were pointed out to him. The gold robes were cut in a 'V' at the neck, and slanted outwards towards the bottom so that if they were worn whilst walking, the knees and thighs would be exposed. By contrast, the green robes had a high neck, and the robes went right down to the toes, and only the bottom half of the calf would be seen if they were walked in.

"So what should I get?" Harry asked. "I don't need to look the height of fashion, but I don't want those either," he said, gesturing at the green robes.

Ron nodded, grinning. "Yeah, you'd look right odd in them. Generally only old people wear them, or people who are trying to make a weird statement." Putting them back on the racks, he rifled through the various coloured robes until he pulled a sparkling silver pair out.

"Ron…" Harry said dubiously. "I'm not wearing silver."

"'Course," Ron agreed with an absent wave of his, "too Slytherin, but what do you think of the cut?" He paused and then snorted. "I can't believe I just said that. This must be what Lavender feels like."

Harry chuckled. "Well, I'm sure you'd make a very fine fashion witch."

"Oi!" Ron grumbled good-naturedly and held the robes back up again. "Just look at your bloody robes."

Harry did look closer. The cut of the robes was not quite as extreme as that of the gold robes he'd been shown before, but it wasn't even near as traditional as the green ones.

"I like it," Harry said with a contemplative nod. "What does the trim mean?"

Ron glanced at it. "Well, it's black, so that kind of implies that you're in a position of power, but because it's only the stitch that's black, it's subtle."

"Wouldn't that be like…I'm presuming I'm better than other people?" Harry asked nervously, fingering the edge of a robe that hung on the rack.

"Nah, don't be silly," Ron said dismissively. "Most people don't even notice, they just absorb it and take it as fact. That's why good politicians pay close attention to their clothes, as Hermione has already told me three thousand times," he grumbled.

"Oh. Weird," Harry said, taking the robe from his friend and examining it closer. The pattern around the colours and cuffs was one in thin black thread depicting leaves and vines, and Harry took an immediate liking to it. "Do you think they've got it in a duller colour?" he asked.

Ron eyed him with a disbelieving smile. "You really haven't been shopping much have you?"

Pulling the robe from Harry's arms, he strode over to a small chart tacked to the end of the rack of robes. Looking at it, Harry was surprised to see that it was a colour wheel, and below it were several little boxes with numbers in them. Removing his wand, Ron tapped the robe and then tapped the chart.

Harry watched in amazement as the small arrow in the middle of the colour wheel spun, and the colours re-arranged themselves until the majority of the right side of the chart was occupied with different shades of grey. Tapping it with his wand again, Ron dragged the arrow across the surface, and Harry watched with wonder as the robes in his hands followed the colour change, fading to a tarnished silver.

"Better?" the redhead asked, chuckling a little at Harry's open-mouthed expression.

"Y-yeah," Harry mumbled, dragging his attention from the robes to the colour chart. "How does that work?"

Rolling his eyes, Ron dragged him over so that he was standing in front of it. "The main colour wheel will reset to neutral when you tap it twice. When you check in a piece of clothing it'll take the same colour and push out all the ones that aren't similar. If you want to change the colour, you tap the colour you want, and then fine tune it."

"What are all the numbers below?" Harry asked, eyeing them.

"That's the tag for the colour," Ron said, gesturing lazily with his wand, making the letters sparkle as it passed over them. "That's the tag for the robe, that's the number available, that's the number you have out. Oh, and those tabs there," he said, gesturing two the labels below that had different numbers on them, "are for if you aren't sure with the colour, and want to save one colour and select another without losing it."

Harry just blinked. He hadn't realised how advanced Wizarding clothes shops were. It reminded him of the colour picker on Dudley's laptop, but infinitely better. Ron left him to fiddle around with it, and set to browsing the racks, absentmindedly fingering the robes he liked.

The colour chart kept Harry amused for a long time. He decided he liked the colour Ron had picked for the silver robes, but he decided to get some in different colours too. Tapping the item number, he upped it to three, and two more folded robes flew down from the shelves lining the high ceiling, far out of reach of the customers.

Smiling, Harry thought he understood how the shop was arranged a little better now. The shelves holding folded robes above were the stock, and the ones on the racks below were the different styles. He noted with distant interest that every now and again the colour of a robe on display would change.

Eventually, Harry settled with changing his robes to dull silver, gold and bronze. Tapping it twice to finish, he was surprised as they floated over to the counter and folded themselves neatly on its surface. He was even more surprised when a little label in gold appeared reading 'Harry Potter'.

Shrugging he picked out another style of robes, these ones in a heavy fabric with wide sleeves, and chose one in a dark green, another in a dark blue, and another in a dried blood red.

Meanwhile he kept a careful eye on Ron. He seemed to gravitate strongly towards the blue robes, in a slightly more archaic style than Harry did, although he went for greens too. Harry was pleased to note that he generally kept clear of the reds because they made his face look ridiculously pale and sickly by comparison, and the idea of him wearing them on a regular basis made him wince. Ron couldn't be so much of a Gryffindor that he went for bright red robes…could he?

Drifting back to the front of the store, he smiled at the irritable voices floating over to him – he had to. Remus was apparently scolding Sirius and telling anyone that would listen that his robes were _perfectly_ fine, thank you. However, when Harry rounded the corner, he saw that Ginny, Helena and Sirius had easily managed to build up a pile of clothes for him.

Ginny had also chosen a good pile of robes, and Harry was pleased to see that they weren't being picky on account of him spending money on them. He vaguely noted that most of Ginny's pile was taken up with mossy greens, some of them glistening gently.

Apparently Ginny was in the middle of convincing Hermione to get a robe that she was fingering with yearning. It was in a dusky rose colour, similar to the dress she'd worn for the Yule Ball.

"Just get it 'Mione," Harry said as he approached.

"But I couldn't possibly-" she began nervously.

Smiling, Harry squeezed her shoulder. "You can. My Christmas present, remember?"

He moved away before she could start protesting again, and was pleased to see her hesitantly pick it up and take it to the counter. Avoiding the muttering Remus, he winked at Sirius, who lolled his tongue out playfully.

Moving back towards the place that he had found the Cloak of Smoke the first time, he examined them carefully. It appeared to be the section of the shop for new innovations. The Cloaks of Smoke were still there, although there weren't any new colours. As he moved past them, another set of robes and cloaks caught his eye. Turning back, he looked curiously at a set of inky black robes. Shrugging, he almost turned away again, but as he moved, a shimmering caught his eye. The cloaks had hidden colours like starling feathers, and they only appeared very subtly.

Fingering the fabric, Harry was surprised at how silky they felt. Turning his head slightly to the side, he moved the cloak and saw to his delight that it reflected a glinting blue-green.

"Ah, you found the Darkshine Cloaks," said a voice from his side, and Harry turned to see Helena standing beside him.

"You really have a knack for making beautiful cloaks," Harry said, smiling and indicating his Cloak of Smoke.

"We try," she said with a wink. "Now, these are similar to the Cloak of Smoke and the Dream Robes in that you can pull the hood out, and they're fire resistant and all that. They're also good robes to do Shadow Magic in," she added.

"Shadow magic?" Harry questioned.

"Magic with shadows," she said with a grin. "Check it out the next time you're in the book store, but be careful to buy the legal books. Most of it was outlawed awhile ago, but there's some useful spells," she told him. "My cousin has a bit of a fixation with it, see, so we designed these with him in mind."

"I will," Harry said, curiosity peaked. "Can I get a few of these?"

"'Course. What colours do you want?"

---

Harry left Sprite's Robes with a rather lighter purse, although Helena had insisted on giving him a generous discount. He had taken her to one side and listed the robes that Ron had been interested in, purchasing them privately and asking that she send them to Hogwarts in time for Christmas. He was satisfied for once, knowing that he was doing something frivolous with his money but not really caring. He wouldn't make it a regular occurrence in the least, but it was a very…pleasant feeling to be able to be the one to treat his companions instead of the other way round as it had been with his few acquaintances in primary school.

Once they had left, Harry led them down to Sprite's Clothes. Helena's sister Ilene greeted them just as sternly as the last time, and took an almost criminal delight in picking out clothes for the protesting Remus.

Ginny and Hermione left together to investigate the 'Witches' section, and once more Harry and Ron investigated the section labelled 'Wizards'.

"No, your shirts were just normal shirts," Ron assured him when Harry asked if they had any symbolic significance like the robes. "But waistcoats, they're pretty important to get right."

Harry eventually picked out a pleasant cream and silver waistcoat, and a deep green one. Ron made a pointed comment about 'Slytherin colours' but Harry chose to ignore him, instead taking note of the elegant blue waistcoat that Ron glanced at wistfully.

He bought a few more shirts to match his new purchases in Sprite's Robes, and was delighted to discover a range of clothes similar to the Darkshine Cloaks. He wasted no time in purchasing several matching waistcoats, shirts, trousers and slacks. Perhaps it was a little excessive, but he'd grown extremely bored of Dudley's hand-me-downs, and his wardrobe didn't exactly stretch very far as it was.

He returned to the front of the shop just in time to see Remus standing with a disgruntled expression on his face, wearing elegant dark brown clothes.

"Very nice," he said, pleased to finally see the man in some decent clothes. Turning to Ilene he said, "You really have a good eye for colour. He looks great!"

"You know Harry, I really don't think this is-" Remus began, but Sirius growled and pawed at his feet before he could finish.

In the end, it took them another twenty minutes to finish with their purchases, and although Remus had stopped protesting, he still looked indignant. Leaving Sprite's Clothes, they wandered idly down the street and back towards the main alley. Sirius gambolled around their feet, and Ginny encouraged Remus to conjure a stick for her to throw for him. Ron and Hermione wandered behind them, sniping at each other as usual.

Harry himself drifted in a daze of contented happiness. It didn't matter that Voldemort had begun his attacks, that Dumbledore was still ill, or that Slytherin was conspiring. Not at the moment. All that mattered was having one of the most enjoyable days he'd experienced for a long time.

They headed into the Magical Menagerie by general consent, and whilst the others busied themselves with exclaiming over the various creatures, Harry found himself drawn to the snakes once more.

In some primal sense, parseltongue still scared him. It felt so natural that he didn't even notice that he was doing it, but it still sang of dark things that he would generally prefer to ignore. Not only that, but the reactions he got from the skill were not pleasant. It remained difficult to speak in, although he found it easier around Salazar, simply because the man seemed so snake-like at times.

"Harry?" Remus said softly, standing beside him.

"I'm all right," he replied automatically.

"I'm sure you are," Remus said mildly, but didn't push it any further. Harry was just thankful for his presence, especially when he began to catch snippets of the conversations coming from the glass tank.

"-_wolf-"_

"_-different, not other…"_

"_-young one. Eat us…scared…-"_

With a pang, Harry turned away, heading quickly to another tank, and watching the stock-still salamander intently. He couldn't help feel cheated that even something as mundane as a snake had family to look after it, and protect.

He left the place feeling rather more sober than when he had entered, but he was cheered as they headed towards the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The signs around it were garish and bright, standing out of the surrounding shops like gold to a Niffler.

"Harry!" the twin redheads exclaimed in unison. "How are our-"

"-special birthday presents working?"

"Actually, I haven't had much chance to try out the pranking kit yet," Harry admitted. "I put the dream catcher up, but, uh," he hesitated, all too aware of his friends standing around them, "it hasn't been holding the dreams."

"Oh, interesting."

"Our little Harry got dreams that won't stick?" They asked.

"Yeah, but it's no bother," Harry assured them in as casual a tone as he could manage. The pair of them shot him identical huge winks.

"Don't worry Harry-"

"-we won't ask questions."

A weight rose from Harry's chest at this, and he neatly diverted the topic by inquiring about the various new inventions he could see around the shop. Fred and George led them into the back room, confidently pushing past the other customers waiting to be served, and showing them all manner of mysterious items. After a little hesitation, Harry left with a packet of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and the rest of them with various bits and pieces.

Sirius in particular had come running up with several things clamped in his jaws, and from the way his eyes lit up and his tail started wagging when he entered, he was utterly captivated.

Upon leaving the twin's shop, they dispersed somewhat; Harry content to simply follow the others and look at what they wanted to now. His mind kept drifting back to the tattoo parlour he knew to be only just up the road from Sprite's Clothes, but he discarded the idea. It was, perhaps, something for another time, and after a good deal more research.

---

**Notes:** Gods…yes. Shopping. Sorry about that. I'd written this section _ages_ ago when I was still into the idea of going into every little detail about what they buy, and having them buy _loads_. That was before I'd realised just how boring it could get once you read practically the same sequence of events over and over again just rehashed in different places. So, sorry about that, but I just couldn't be asked to go about cutting it up and adding it to the chapters before and after.


	31. Marauders and Founders

---

**Marauders and Founders**

---

They arrived back at the castle a little after lunchtime, and opted to spend it eating it outside with the help of a few powerful warming charms. The house elves were only too happy to provide a picnic blanket and food, cheerfully informing them that now the Chills had stopped the food could arrive warm. Harry knew that they had been distraught by the experience of having to serve cold meals to dissatisfied students.

Harry lay on his back, leaning his head against Sirius. Remus sat to one side, looking rather uncomfortable in his new clothes, whilst Ron and Ginny squabbled over Quidditch. Hermione already had her nose buried in one of the books she had bought shopping.

"Harry," Remus began quietly, and he couldn't repress a small sigh as he predicted the subject of the conversation. "It was very generous of you to buy these clothes, but ultimately unnecessary. I _am_ able to afford my own, and you shouldn't feel as if you have to provide them."

Sirius yipped sleepily in assent, and Harry lifted his head to turn to Remus.

"I don't feel obliged Remus," Harry said, but changed his tactics at the doubt on his ex-professor's face. "All right, put it like this: How much gold do you think is in the Potter vault?" he asked seriously, but continued before Remus could answer.

"I don't know, but likely more than I, or my children, or my grandchildren could ever manage to spend if we went on regular shopping trips to the most expensive wizarding stores around. Merlin knows how my ancestors got so much, but although it probably doesn't rival the Malfoy fortune, I'm not exactly hard up," Harry told him. "So, just accept that I'm going to shower you all with expensive gifts," he added jokingly, and was rewarded with a small smile from the man.

"I'm still not happy with it, but…" he trailed off. "You know, your father said almost the same thing when we were in our third year," Remus said nostalgically. "He basically told me, very politely mind, to stuff it and just sit back and enjoy the ride."

Harry felt a faint stirring of happiness in his chest, and sat back against Sirius. "What was my dad like?" he asked. "You know…you talked about him, but you never told me much."

"Very generous," Remus said thoughtfully. "Incredibly loyal to those he liked, and disregarding of those he didn't. I must tell you though Harry, that he often ended up in difficult situations because of that," Remus told him seriously. "Loyalty is an excellent characteristic, but do not fall into the trap of judging your enemies too soon." Remus sighed, looking up at the sky. "He was always the prankster, your father. Very innovative and creative when it came to new inventions. However, it was your mother that had the temper," Remus smiled.

"My mother?" Harry questioned, curious.

"Oh yes, quite the temper. She used to loathe James, though," he said fondly.

"What? Why?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Oh, James was always playing pranks, as you know. But some of them weren't always…kind. Especially towards the Slytherins," Remus chuckled. "But they gave as good as they got. Anyway, Lily hated the pranks, and used to yell at him. Of course, James fell hopelessly in love with her – the one girl he couldn't get."

"Typical," Harry laughed.

"Yes, quite," Lupin agreed. "Well, eventually he had to get down on his knees and beg her to even look at him. It got a bit better after that," Remus said, thoughtfully, "but it wasn't until their seventh year that she would even let him kiss her on the cheek. I think she wanted to know his declarations of love were serious," Remus added with a wry smile.

"Popular with the girls then?" Ginny interjected from beside a sulking Ron. Apparently she had won their argument.

"Very," Remus said, "Although Sirius can tell you more about that – they used to make a game of the girls they dated."

"No wonder Lily wouldn't believe him," Harry mused.

"Yes," Remus admitted, "the declaration of love was one of their favourite pick-up lines. I think she thought it was a bet between them. Right up until he proposed to her at the end of the seventh year."

"Graduation day?" Ginny asked.

"Hopelessly cliché and romantic. And as you might guess, she said 'yes'," Remus said with a grin. Sirius shifted and made a grumbling sound in the back of his throat. "You can change back up at the school Padfoot. Then you can add your pointless two sickles," Remus said wickedly, earning a growl from the dog.

The conversation moved to other things, but Harry's mind remained on his parents. Despite knowing several people who had been close to his parents, this was the first time that someone had actually spoken to him about how they'd got together. When they had finished their food and were walking back up to the school, Harry wondered idly what he would have been like had his parents remained alive.

_Guess I'll never know,_ he thought.

Pushing the idea from his mind, he focused on how to deal with the problems at hand. Obviously Sirius and Remus would know of the drain on the castle's defences, but it was still something that Harry would have to discuss with them.

He also wanted to show them Helga's rooms, but he was reluctant to introduce Hermione and Ron. He held a deep and inexplicably growing vein of trust for Ginny, Sirius and Remus, but that same feeling was fading rapidly from Hermione and Ron. Hermione would want to make it publicly open and inform the staff of such a valuable historical find, and Ron would just be…Ron. He'd be impressed, no doubt, but he was likely to make inopportune remarks on it or shout about it if someone drove him into a temper.

Luckily, the dilemma was taken out of his hands.

"Fine!" Hermione shouted from behind him, elbowing roughly past. Harry thought he had glimpsed tears.

"Hope you fall off a damn cliff!" Ron yelled after her, before colouring a bright red as the incredulous stares of the group turned towards him. "I'll see you later," he added gruffly, pointedly heading in the opposite direction to Hermione.

"Do they do this a lot?" Remus asked, brows raised. Harry shrugged.

"They fancy each other," he said bluntly.

"Ah, young love," Remus said, eyes crinkled in amusement.

Picking up the opportunity, Harry beckoned Remus closer. "You know I told you we'd found things to make even the Marauders green with envy?" he asked, and Remus nodded, suddenly interested. Sirius sat by his side, making a show of being uninterested, but one ear was directed towards them. "Follow me," he told them quietly, before heading towards the Upper Sector.

Remus's face registered in surprise as Ginny walked through the door with ease, and Sirius yipped happily at Harry's feet.

"Harry," the man murmured, "I know those enchantments. The Headmaster reinforced them himself. How could you change them to allow Ginny entry?"

Harry felt a sly grin cross his face. "Just wait and see, Remus."

The two men became even more bemused as they headed away from the commonly used areas and far into the bowels of the castle where the empty rooms were filled with dust.

Finally they arrived on Helga's corridor with a sigh, and Harry let himself drink in the view. No matter how long he spent at the arched windows he doubted he would ever get his fill. He had wondered for awhile if it was enchanted that way, but Helga had assured him with a smile that it was completely natural.

"Harry," Sirius whispered weakly, and he turned to find him once more a man, staring at Helga's portrait in stunned surprise.

Helga was regarding him with a raised eyebrow and a faint smile tugging her lips. She had made a change, and today her greying hair was no longer tied back in a bun but fell to her shoulders in thick strands.

"I told you, didn't I?" Harry said to his godfather, grinning to see an identical look of awe on Remus's face.

Suddenly Harry was bowled over in a hug, and for the second time that day found himself being spun round.

"You've done the Marauder's proud, kid," Sirius told him, letting out a laugh. "We should have known you'd already surpassed us!"

"Let me down Siri!" Harry protested laughingly. "You haven't even seen the half of it yet."

"Not even…?" Remus repeated, still staring at the portrait.

"Half," Ginny finished. "You haven't. Hey Helga," she greeted the Founder.

Helga inclined her head to Ginny before turning a sharp eye on Harry. "These are more of your friends then?"

"Sort of," Harry said. "Sirius Black is my godfather," he said, gesturing at him, "and Remus is my ex-professor and friend of Sirius and my father."

Rolling her eyes, Helga swung back, but Harry caught a murmur of "they'd better not break anything."

Remus and Sirius's actions and expressions were almost identical to those Harry had seen on Ginny's face when he'd shown her the place, and probably the same as his own. Harry himself admired the rooms once more. Everything was filled with elegance and warmth, the styles similar to those in the corridors beyond the portrait hole.

Directing them to the sofas, Harry proceeded to explain the circumstances of him finding the rooms, watching their expressions change from awe to admiration as he expanded on the story.

"There might be more then!" Sirius exclaimed, and Harry couldn't help but share a smile with those in the room who knew the truth.

"Oh, there are," Helga said smugly. "Although Harry has yet to find the last."

Twin gapes turned to him, and Harry grinned – he had to. "You found _more_?" Sirius exclaimed.

"Rowena and Salazar," Harry told them, carefully watching the mistrust that seeped into their faces at the mention of Slytherin.

Sirius' expression immediately closed up, and the playful attitude disappeared. "I don't want you spending time with a snake," Sirius said stiffly, before melting and looking at Harry with anxiety. "He's the founder of Slytherin for Merlin's sake. He's dangerous."

Above them, Helga snorted. "As if the man could hurt anyone," she muttered. "There are restrictions on him doing harm, but I have already recommended that Harry avoid him."

"Salazar isn't that bad really," Harry mused, elaborating as he saw the four identical looks of disbelief. "All right, he's a manipulative bastard, but at least he has manners, and a sense of humour," he amended.

"Harry," Remus said seriously. "I don't think it would be wise to spend too much time in his company. He has something of a reputation, and it wouldn't be fair of you to drag Ginny there either."

"I'm not about to," Harry said a little sullenly. "And it's nice to know you assume I put my friends in danger. I forbade her for visiting the moment I had a chance. It's not like anyone but me could get in anyway," he added.

Remus winced. "You know that's not what I meant."

"This is all very touching," Ginny cut in, "but try and work on his self-sacrificing urges instead." Sirius let out a bark of laughter as the tense mood was dissipated.

"That's our Harry," he said smiling. "How about pushing someone else in front of the hex for once?" he joked, and Harry chuckled.

"Can't," he said. "It's something I'm stuck with."

"Ha!" Ginny said. "Just imagine the change in your public image! 'Oh, Harry, save me, save me!'" she imitated in a high pitched voice. "'Hang on, what? Wait! Oof, Jelly-legs!'"

Harry laughed with the others, but he couldn't help but mentally recall the third task, although Cedric hadn't had a chance to say anything before – never mind. He didn't like it when people were sacrificed for him, willing or otherwise.

"There are things I need to talk to you about," he said once the laughter had died away.

"I expect you do," Remus said soberly. "Go on Harry, we'll listen."

Harry took a fortifying breath, formulating his thoughts. "Right. Well, there's lots of stuff going down. I'll start with the Chills. You've probably heard – if you managed to speak to Dumbledore that is," he added hopefully, but their expressions gave nothing away, "that the wards are failing. If Dumbledore hadn't done the Magicus Potentia Ritual, they'd have been down by Christmas he said."

"He told the whole school this?" Remus said, brows raised in disbelief.

"We found it out," Ginny put in.

"Ah," he sighed in comprehension. Behind him Sirius smirked a little, no doubt wanting to put in a 'we should have known' comment.

"Well, something happened to Dumbledore in the middle when the Chill came along. It shouldn't have, but it did, and Dumbledore got it the worst. I…helped Mercury with the other teachers – I'd been following, see," Harry explained, hesitating at the spooky memory of those glowing blank eyes.

"And you want to know the other half of your tale," Remus said understandingly. Harry nodded.

"Albus is dying," Sirius said bluntly, but his face had taken on that familiar, drawn, haunted look.

"But…how?!" Harry cried, shocked. _Albus is dying…_it struck him like a spike of lead to his gut. Ginny was faring no better. Even Helga looked alarmed.

"The magic is being leeched out of him," Sirius said glumly, leaning back, eyes distant.

"I think you can guess why the Chills have stopped for the moment," Remus said gently.

"Because the power is coming from somewhere else," Harry breathed in horror.

"We have to stop it!" Ginny said suddenly, but quailed a little at her ex-teacher's sad eyes.

"We are trying Miss Weasley," he replied.

"Well it's not bloody working is it!" Sirius exploded, making the two of them flinch a little.

"There's nothing we can do Padfoot," Remus said calmly, and Sirius sank back into the sofa, looking troubled.

"I hate being useless," he muttered.

"As do we all," Remus replied gravely.

"But we know things!" Harry said. "There's an item that's sucking it out! It would have to be in the castle too, so all we need to do is search…" but Remus was already shaking his head.

"It could be anything Harry. It could be a pebble linked to another object outside the walls that it transfers the power to. We haven't a chance."

"But we have to try," Ginny insisted. Harry remained silent, absorbing Remus' words. Perhaps last year he would have been protesting as Ginny was, but after the third task he found he saw things in a different light. The world couldn't _be_ saved. He shook his head a little, earning him a frown from Remus.

"Perhaps…I…I don't think we can't help Gin, anymore than we already are," he said, putting a soothing arm around her. "But we do need to see him," he said to the adults before him.

"I'm afraid that's up to him," Remus said evasively.

"Oh, come off it Moony," Sirius said gruffly before turning to the two students. "It means that he barely let us through, and three-quarters of the rest of the Order hasn't even heard the news."

Inside him, Harry felt something sink.

"We need not impress on you how important it is to keep this a secret," Remus said. "Knowledge is an advantage after all."

---

It was awhile later before Harry could bring himself to go on to different topics. They discussed the Daily Prophet, and both Sirius and Remus told him there was nothing he could do but grin and bear it. With the problem of finding Godric however, Sirius managed to shed some light on the problem.

"What about the grounds?" he asked.

Harry blinked. He hadn't even considered the man having a room outside of the main castle.

"The lake!" Helga exclaimed from her portrait. "He was always walking or running round it."

"The lake is too big to walk around in an entire day," Harry said dubiously. "How am I meant to find a portrait in it?"

"It probably wouldn't be in it," Helga mused. "But there are caves where it meets the rock that the castle is built on."

"It's worth a try, I suppose," Harry agreed, not exactly looking forwards to trekking around the lake. Still, he might be able to fly…

"Sirius?" he asked. "What about my Etiquette training? That might help."

"Etiquette?" Ginny asked in surprise.

"I'm learning how to grow wings," Harry told her seriously. She simply looked at him, utterly confused.

"I hate to tell you this, but wizards can't grow wings," she said slowly. "These two have been having you on."

"They can actually, but not to great use," Helga put in. "Besides, I don't think he's talking about that kind."

"More birdlike," Sirius added with a grin.

"And perhaps some claws," Remus continued.

"What-" she began, before cutting herself off. "Oh. _Oh_. You're going to try and become an Animagus?" she asked, unsure.

"No, I know I am," Harry told her with a grin. "Want to join?"

Ginny's dark eyes widened for a moment, and then a wide grin split across her face. "How can I say no?" she asked.

"So, the spell or the potion first?" Harry asked his godfather. Sirius looked at him contemplatively.

"I'd say potion, but with you it should probably be spells. The potion is difficult as the spellwork, but you need to figure a lot more out for it."

"Sirius should tell you his discovery," Remus put in, a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

"Discovery?" Harry queried, and his godfather rolled his eyes.

"The potion reacts with things that are a part of you at the time," Sirius told him, shooting a dirty look at Remus. "The faster you work, the easier it is to find a good match, and it's best to stay on the same diet too, because you can bet that anything you eat a lot of will end up in it. Me," he said with a grin, "I had to buy three crates of Honeydukes best chocolate to experiment with. Cost me a pretty penny. My parents wouldn't give me any money to spend for months."

"He came back one day and put them the dorm," Remus said nostalgically. "Tried to hide the crates under the bed, but we found them anyway. James used to drive him insane by eating them. He was still teasing him a year later."

"Huh," Sirius grumbled, " 'a dog's appetite' he used to say."

"Couldn't you become an Animagus, Lupin?" Ginny asked suddenly. Remus winced a little at the question, trying to hide the regret that came over his face.

"In theory, but the…risks were far too great. Things have gone horribly wrong to werewolves who try and force themselves into a shape that isn't their own," he said sadly.

"Oh," Ginny said. "What about a wolf animagus?"

"It's the most likely form, but it still isn't the same as a werewolf. The curse tends to interfere and corrupt the magic used for the Animagus transformation."

"Sorry," she replied quietly.

"It's a regret Miss Weasley, nothing more," Remus said with a smile. "Now, about you two…"

They spent the next hour going over spell casting techniques, as well as the various ways of binding spells together into one cohesive unit. Harry performed several of the base spells he was shown, although two of them ended with him in agony on the floor, and the other two produced a mild headache. Sirius assured him it was all perfectly normal, but Remus looked rather worried. Finally Harry and Sirius managed to produce a list of possible spell combinations together, and by the end of it Harry felt incredibly satisfied.

The two of them also explained the transformation process to the students. It was similar to the simple Human Transfigurations they had done, but the transformation was long and arduous to begin with. They recommended them to try changing the colour of their hair or growing their fingernails first of all, before moving on to harder transformations.

"Don't worry kid, we'll help you more when we come back," Sirius said as he hugged him at the portrait hole. "We'll be here for Christmas by invitation, so we'll see you then."

"Yeah," Harry said a little thickly. Christmas suddenly seemed a long time away.

"We'll be sure to get you great presents, yeah?" his godfather said, tilting his chin up to face him. "Take care of yourself, all right?"

"I will," Harry said sadly. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too kid," he said affectionately, ruffling Harry's hair.

Stepping away, he transformed back into a dog, and as the two of them walked towards the apparition point Harry felt a pang of loss in the pit of his stomach.

---

The next couple of weeks were spent in a haze of inaction. Snow fell occasionally, landing on the ground in clumps but never really staying long enough to make things out of. On one clear and brilliant morning he had woken to find the grounds covered with a pale, glittering frost that clung to everything it could, and transformed into thin ice near the edge of the lake.

Harry took up Hagrid's offer to look after the fairy, which although he liked was becoming to be more of a liability than was really warranted. In fact, he had stopped even bringing it to breakfast as it had developed an unholy fascination for his Potions Professor. He was certain he was going to pay for his fairy's indiscretions when the new term came around, and he had already lost a grand total of fifty points over the time he had owned the thing. Harry considered giving it to the twins for Christmas – he was sure they'd get along.

He had almost completely avoided the Founders' rooms in the time too, sticking solely to Helga's. Kindly, she blocked off visits from the other two, and he was able to talk to her a great deal more. He managed to finish pruning all of her plants, and instead busied himself in preparing and harvesting from them. He hoped that Neville would appreciate the gift.

Harry had got nearly all of his presents now, and since he and Ginny planned to visit Checker Square after Christmas, he had very little to do, and he had never been so bored. He enjoyed spending time with Ginny, but there was too much of a good thing. Besides she spent a lot of her time with Rowena, and Harry refused to follow her back there for anything other than Potions lessons after the Founder had given him that peculiar advice about prophecies. There was something about it that sent a jolt of premonition through his gut, and he didn't want to hear more at the moment.

Most of the time he could be found in the Library, hidden away in their secret corner. Half the time not even Madame Pince managed to find him, and since Hermione and Ron had never been there, they couldn't locate him either.

He finally managed to read 'Hogwarts: A History', as well as the majority of textbooks he was meant to have read during his six years there. None of it was very challenging from his perspective, but there were many helpful hints and snippets of information that he found that made him realise just how much better he might be doing if he had actually read the assigned work in the first place.

Biting the bullet, Harry had even delved into Potions textbooks, finding them far more informative than his vicious Potions teacher. He found that the subject was far closer to cooking than he had imagined, and as it was one of the few pleasures he had had at the Dursleys, he fell into learning with little resistance. He even considered visiting one of the Student Potions Labs, but checked himself just in time. He could go to Rowena when he really wanted to learn.

Although the Chills hadn't yet returned, a fact Harry felt was bittersweet, as it assured his headmaster's continued life, but also marked down another day he must have spent in agony, Harry still woke up early. From what little Harry had read on the subject of magical draining, and he had delved into it in the hopes of discovering a miraculous cure, it was meant to be excruciating.

These days however, his nightmares seemed to be resurfacing, and he dreamt of Voldemort ordering Dumbledore's death, and the blank white eyes of the staff as they fell and crumbled into dust.

Another thing kept him away from the Founders than just wariness, and it ran far deeper. By Harry's logic, if the dreams and Chills had stopped because of the elusive fourth Founder, then by that same reasoning it was Slytherin who was behind the inevitable death of the headmaster. After all, he had seemed to bear him a deep dislike.

So, he kept his distance, not believing he'd come close to accepting the man's offer. However, it didn't seem that Salazar was prepared to let this go unchecked.

---


	32. Explosions

**Note:** The Years: In case I get more people telling me that the Tri-wizard Tournament was in the 4th year, and that Harry never exploded a classroom, I refer you to a note at the top of the first chapter that explains that I messed up the times.

---

**Explosions**

---

The paranoia had resurfaced. Everywhere he went, Harry saw spying little snakes. They might appear in the soft golden curl in the Gryffindor tapestries, or in an interesting marking on a polished shelf that shifted every time he looked away.

The portraits had slowly stopped giving him warnings, and instead shot him pleading looks. Harry guessed that Salazar had had a few words with them. It would fit the man. The smarter ones dropped hints in their conversations, never explicit, but still along the lines of 'don't trust the snake'. Although the last time he'd travelled down to the dungeons the snakes had been hissing a very different tune. He didn't think he'd ever heard the word 'master' repeated so many times in one space of time.

The evening of Christmas Eve rolled around faster than he could have imagined, and Harry found himself walking back from a visit to Hagrid's. He paused by the dark stretch of water and levitated his rock cake over the lake until a pale tentacle emerged and yanked it from the air. Hagrid didn't seem to mind that he gave his peculiar cooking to the Giant Squid, in fact, on several evenings they had come out to feed it together, and Hagrid was pleased because he had never managed to find a treat it liked before.

He was gazing up at the star strewn sky and the winking lights in it when something brushed by his feet, making him yelp and stumble away. In the darkness he couldn't make out what it was, but there was definitely a large shadow scuttling towards the castle.

Repulsed, Harry cast a Lumos charm so that he might see where he was going and avoid any other night-time creatures on his way back.

The castle had been decorated wildly over the Christmas holidays, and Harry had gone down to the Great Hall to watch McGonagall and Flitwick perform their charms and transfigurations as he did every year. He was about to turn off towards the Gryffindor tower when a voice stopped him.

"The eagle wants to see you," a willowy woman called out to him from a portrait. "She has the little flame with her, and a surprise."

Nodding absently at the woman, Harry diverted his steps towards the Dungeons, hoping wildly that Snape wouldn't be prowling them. If he knew the man, he'd be patrolling near the Ravenclaw common room about now.

The Dungeons were different at night, he noticed. They were dark and miserable at the height of the day, but at night they took on an entirely alternate quality that Harry didn't find as disturbing as he should. People, long ago, must have been held in cells down there, but to Harry it felt oddly as if he were coming home. He inhaled and smelt the scent of water and damp and stone. Slipping past that invisible barrier in his mind, he could almost hear the dripping of water echoing far off in the distance.

Shaking his head, he jerked back from his thoughts in time to save himself from unconsciously making an about turn and heading back the way he had come. Perhaps it was time for him to mention these little mental lapses to someone.

"_Umbra,"_ he whispered, and welcomed the now familiar sensation of being wrapped in shadows with only a hint of trepidation. 

Truly, it was the small stone space that he emerged in that really sent shivers down his spine. There was just something about being locked in a cupboard for years that made him yearn for freedom and avoid enclosed spaces. Which, of course, was why he had such a love for flying.

"Harry," Rowena greeted him warmly, and Harry found himself blinking in surprise as he looked around the rooms.

The entire place was decorated exquisitely, the festivity of it rivalling the Great Hall. Twinkling lights and animated candles were scattered around, and a massive Christmas tree dominated the ground floor.

"You like?" a soft voice asked from beside him.

Turning, he saw Ginny, smiling at him. She was wearing the gently shifting green robes he had bought for her when they had gone to Diagon Alley, and it offset her dark red hair pleasantly.

Unbidden, a grin broke across his face. "Merry Christmas Ginny," he said with feeling, before turning to the portrait, "You too Rowena."

"And you Harry," the Founder replied, smiling gently. She had added a wreath to sit on top of her dark hair, which made a stunning contrast to her red dress.

Tugging on his hand, Ginny led him over to the Christmas tree and gestured to three presents lying below it. To his surprise, one of them had '_To Harry Potter'_ written on them. The other was addressed to Ginny Weasley.

"Open the presents from me first," Rowena told them.

With a delighted smile, Harry pulled the small square package towards him. With a look at Ginny to check that she had hers, he began to pull the wrapping off it. Finally, he reached a small black box, and he reverentially lifted the lid off. A look into it, and he couldn't help but gasp. Inside was a roughly cut spearhead of obsidian with a metal chain running through the top so that he could hang it around his neck.

Removing it, he found it to be surprisingly heavy. A glance over at Ginny showed that she had received one almost identical to his own, only the rock was a slightly different shape. Exchanging a smile with her, he slipped it over his head, feeling a shiver of magic as it settled.

"Thank you Rowena," he said gratefully, but the Founder held up a hand.

"Don't thank me yet. You don't know what they do," she told him, before turning to Ginny. "Hold it and say something."

"Cousin?" Ginny whispered, and Harry felt as if it had been whispered inside his own head, causing him to exhale in surprise.

Turning to Harry Rowena spoke again. "Concentrate on it and speak," she instructed him.

Doing as she had told, Harry focused on the rock around his neck, trying to reach for the tingle of magic he felt had a moment ago. Once he thought he had got a good hold on it, he whispered a soft 'Here, coz'. From Ginny's gasp, it had worked.

"That's…" Ginny trailed off.

"Invaluable," Harry finished for her. Rowena smiled a little sadly at them.

"There are hard times ahead, and I have a feeling that you will need them far more than I. Indeed, the one I shared them with is long dead," she said, and Harry had a sudden flash of insight and understanding about just who had the skill to help create such a thing in stone.

"There are several things you should know about them," Rowena continued composing her voice. "You can transfer speech in that way, but with concentration you can learn how to transfer thought. I feel I should warn you that thought is far more difficult to refine, and at best the recipient will end up with a jumble of images, sounds and emotions. It is worth experimentation, but is probably best to only be used during emergencies where speech will prove a liability."

"This is…" Harry began, before formulating a proper response. "This will be infinitely useful. Thank you."

---

The next few hours were spent pleasantly, sitting before the large fire and going over the finer points of Animagus transformation with Rowena. She told them that the potions were complex to work out, but once the basic ingredients were established it was simply fine-tuning to match the person at that particular time. The difficulty of Animagus Potions were that the variables had to be changed as a person grew or changed their diet, so some established ingredients were subject to replacement over time. The potions that would give the best fluidity and speed to the transformation had to be completely complimentary to the user at the instant when they took it.

Harry and Ginny shared a midnight meal with mulled wine, delighted when crackers appeared for them on the stroke of twelve. Thankfully, no mice emerged from them this year, but Harry did end up with a rather nice set of Gobstones, whilst Ginny got a pack of trick cards that duplicated and subtracted themselves depending on whether they liked the player. Harry gave up after his third loss.

---

Christmas day itself was uneventful, but the world outside seemed to have taken it upon itself to present the most picturesque landscape possible. The trees in the Forbidden Forest were laden with snow, and it lay thick on the ground. The lake had finally frozen over, and Harry was finally convinced to try his hand at skating – it came to him naturally just as flying did, although it took a good few falls on his arse before he got the hang of it.

When he'd woken he had found a larger pile of presents than was usual and although Ron didn't notice the difference, Harry did. On top of the pile had been a small present in innocuous brown wrapping that he tore into eagerly.

The package had contained a surprisingly elegant silver ring, a small snake twining round it holding a gem in its mouth that was such a dark red as to be almost black. Creasing his brow in confusion, he examined the accompanying note.

'_Merry Christmas little one,_

_I hope that this will be as useful to you as it was to me.'_

Wincing, he gingerly laid the band aside. He was really getting mightily tired of receiving unsigned and suspicious notes. Not to mention, he had a very good idea of who had given it to him, and that didn't make him feel anything but more suspicious. He hissed lightly at it, but there was no response. Grimacing, he wrapped it up and put it away again. He wasn't dim enough to put it on and risk whatever Salazar had planned for him. He didn't doubt that the gem and ring had enchantments on them, and he wouldn't touch the thing again until he found out what they were.

The rest of the presents were of the usual kind. Molly had sent toffee brittle and another jumper, the twins had sent a crate of fireworks, Ginny had given him a Lucky Charm that glowed softly, Ron had given him the typical Quidditch paraphernalia, Hermione had got him another study planner and a book on Politics, and Neville had given him a little carving out of the wood of the tree he had found him sitting in all those weeks ago.

Harry had felt a warm glow of satisfaction when he spotted Ron in the clothes he had been admiring, although the boy refused to speak to him for the rest of the day, and flushed with embarrassment at any mention of presents.

Once he had finished with his pile of gifts, he made his way quickly to the Great Hall. After all, Sirius and Remus were due to arrive…

---

The rest of the holidays passed with great speed. The visit to Mercury Avenue was put off in preference to long evenings in Rowena's rooms, surrounded by heady Potions fumes as the Founder instructed them.

Harry had staunchly avoided the infamous Slytherin Founder ever since his offer of the Apprenticeship. Since her first unsettling appraisal of his offer Rowena had refused to speak more on the topic, and Harry was left to the mechanisation of Fate. Her mention of Prophecy had been buried away, and he tried hard not to consider it. It was unlike him to avoid confronting the problem, but he found himself frozen in a state of indecision, letting his days drift by and trying as hard as he could to throw the offer out of his mind.

The portraits had silenced too. There remained not one who would bear the grim, cryptic warnings to him, and even the snakes had stopped speaking. Harry took this as a bad sign – not only did Salazar control the portraits, but he had withdrawn all the verbal pushes towards taking up his offer. He wondered what the Founder was planning.

Harry continued his reading, trying to follow Hermione's path of escape and bury himself in books. However, the time he could fritter away was gradually running out.

---

The quiet that had dominated the castle during the holidays was shattered abruptly as the carriages from the Hogwarts Express rolled into the grounds. Students poured into the castle. The murmur of conversation around him had seeming missing during the holidays, but now it felt oppressive.

The first day flew by. Mind Arts was his first lesson, and he was reminded of their introductory lesson at the beginning of the school year all that time ago. Was it really the New Year already?

"This term we will be covering a more advanced section of Occlumency. You have already built temporary barriers, and you understand the theory behind them, but you have yet to implement any complex methods of protection. What you have now are mere fences that an experienced Leglimens would do little more than step over," Mercury informed the students.

"In order to produce effective barriers, you must learn to clear your mind not only of your surface thoughts but of deeper memories. In short, you must learn control," Mercury said with a slight twitch of his mouth. "Some of you will have…difficulties in that area."

With a sweep of his hand, the chalk began to write the theory up on the board. "Control must encompass the mind, body and magic. Control of facial expressions but mental turmoil is useless, and similarly a stunningly controlled mind but chaotic magic is extremely hazardous. That is why this term we will begin with sessions on meditation. You will be required to meditate before sleep and after waking at the very least, which should not be a problem as it will replace the standard practice of clearing your minds, which, no doubt, you have been doing avidly," he drawled.

Mercury gave a very pointed look at the class, making it abundantly clear that there were quite a few people who he thought had been skimping in that department.

"Meditation will be covered only until you master the theory and practical aspects, and then we will progress to other subjects, such as Leglimency." He nodded in response to the diversity of reactions around the class. "Yes, by the end of this term, you should have developed a light groundwork in Leglimency. That is _all_ you will learn in this class. Before I begin on that topic however, I must impress several things upon you."

"The first is that the Ministry provides no rules against the protection of one's own mind up to a certain level, and that level is higher than anything you will be able to learn in the NEWT years. However, Leglimency falls into an entirely different category, which is one of the primary reasons that the Mind Arts are such a select and less…reputable subject." He raised a hand to rub his temples, surveying the class with a flash irritation in his features, and Harry perked up his ears with interest.

"There is a reason that the Mind Arts are taught only for the last two years of your schooling, and it is this: The Mind Arts are widely regarded as dangerous and invasive, which, in the wrong hands, they most certainly are. The power to lift information and memories from another's mind is highly restricted, and for that reason there are only two types of people trained in the Mind Arts; those who have taken an Unbreakable Vow to use the skill only for the 'greater good' and those who have been taught illegally outside any formalised training facilities."

Harry absorbed this information carefully. All of the Mind Arts were powerful tools in any hands, and for once he could understand the restrictions on them. On the other hand though, surely a basic course in Occlumency for all students couldn't go amiss? Frowning internally, he considered it. There was no doubt an ulterior motive for that.

"For those of you who wish to pursue the studies at a higher level, I will be holding a session at the end of the year. It is impossible to learn Occlumency to a Master's degree without mastery of its twin, Leglimency. You may be able to derail moderate attacks, but by the end of your NEWT levels you will be experiencing the limits of the Ministry restrictions on the Mind Arts, although they are set with reason. It is standard practice to locate a mentor for the Mind Arts if you wish to pursue it, and there are only a select few across the country," Mercury said, making Harry wince. Pushing away all thoughts of Salazar, he concentrated more firmly on the lecture.

"Aside from Meditation and Leglimency, I will be teaching the Apparition lessons available for your year, although you will be tested by an external and 'Ministry approved' examiner," the thin man said with deep disdain. "Towards the end of the term we will be touching on Dream Magic, several mental illusions and

active protections. From now on, I will be probing your surface thoughts, and it is your duty to identify and remove the invasion."

Several members of the class let out dismayed gasps, and Harry noticed that Malfoy looked quite alarmed. Harry himself wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of the teacher prodding around in his mind. He had far too much to hide. Unbidden, Slytherin's offer returned to him – it was beginning to look more and more promising.

"Sir?" Harry blinked and smiled, recognising Chester's unnaturally bright hair.

"Yes?" Mercury turned towards him, raising a brow in question.

"It's only our surface thoughts you'll be looking at then?" the boy asked.

Mercury grinned, an expression Harry hadn't seen on his face before, which made him look no more reassuring than if Snape were telling him that he was only being cruel to be kind. "Rest assured, your secrets will not be dug up by me. Your surface thoughts only," he told them, and several people in the class breathed quiet sighs of relief.

Harry was a little more sceptical. The phrasing of it was deliberately misleading. After all, where did surface thoughts end and others begin? He was sure that if Mercury found out something interesting then he would have ways of pursuing it within the ambiguous guidelines, no matter what he had promised.

"The instructions are on the board," he said curtly. "Copy them down and follow them in silence. I will be observing your progress. If there are problems, as always, raise your hand."

The rest of the lesson passed in relative peace, although Harry found it difficult to fall into a meditative state, and left the lesson frustrated with his failures. Meditation was different from their previous 'mind clearing' because it wasn't to do with the picturing of a place and submerging of self in it, but rather the absence of all mental and physical distractions, and Harry had far too many to push aside.

---

He retired to the library after lunch, using his free period to browse the Mind Arts section and read a little more of the books he had bought on the subject. However, his reprieve was short lived, and any calm he might have felt evaporated upon entering the Potions classroom.

He had known that after Snape's thwarted attempts to catch his thoughts on Slytherin over the holiday, the man was going to use the lesson time to batter him for information. Harry was already predicting lessons spent dodging points and detentions spent dodging mental attacks.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your lateness, and another two for slovenly dress."

That didn't mean he had to like it though.

Looking down at his robes, Harry frowned. He was dressed quite neatly really, although his hair still refused to lie flat. The smudges under his eyes were receding too, now that he was getting proper sleep.

_Sleep at the expense of Dumbledore's life…_

"Sorry sir," he said, heading towards his usual seat next to Hermione.

"Ah, Mr Potter, I am afraid you will not be working with your little know-it-all friend today," Snape cut in smoothly, making Hermione wince and Harry bristle.

"Sorry sir," he repeated, gritting his teeth, still paused in the middle of the room. "Who am I to be paired with?"

"Mr Malfoy, Potter, and five points for your impertinent tone," Snape said, gesturing lazily towards a smirking Malfoy. However, Harry could feel the man's eyes boring into the back of his head as he took his seat.

_He must be dying to know what I do,_ Harry thought with a trace of bitter irony. _He'd probably appreciate it more too. Well too bad, I'm keeping the bastard out of the loop at all costs._

His books and inkwell landed on the floor with a clatter, and Harry's gaze snapped up to the blonde beside him and hardened.

"Oh, sorry," he said, not sounding apologetic at all.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for willful clumsiness," Snape said in an affectation of casualness.

"But-" he began, before cutting himself off. There was no point in protesting. He could get his revenge later, but he couldn't win in Snape's classroom. The Potions Master was just trying to get him angry enough that he'd have a real outburst and the man could start taking serious points. "Sorry sir," he amended once more, and retrieved the books, thanking magic for the thousandth time as he picked up his Unspillable Inkwell.

"Five for wasting valuable lesson time with your inane apologies," was the reply.

Merlin. The man was out for blood today.

Repressing the scowl trying to form, he returned to his seat and spent the next ten minutes without mishap. They were to brew a complex healing potion that could become poisonous at the slightest mistake, as Snape told them with relish. Thankfully, Harry had improved in his Potions brewing a little over the holidays, and had little difficulty preparing the ingredients to an adequate standard, despite Malfoy's running commentary.

"Sad to be away from your little mudblood girlfriend Potter?" Draco drawled distantly, as if making an observation on the weather. "Of course, we all know you were going after Chang last year. What happened? Not too fond of foreigners then? I don't blame you of course – she is as ugly as hell, but it's not as if you can do better…"

_Concentrate Harry,_ he chanted to himself as he slipped and sliced his hand for the third time. He came close to withdrawing his wand and healing the cuts, the last of which was quite deep, but was stopped with the realisation that yet more points would be dropped for it. Frowning, Harry tried to wipe away the blood on his robes.

"Still, she'd be crying on your shoulder the whole time really," Draco was saying. "What with that half-blood _Hufflepuff_ getting into her skirt all year. She was probably quite torn really. On the one hand she'd have the 'famous Harry Potter'," he laughed cruelly, "and on the other, the true Hogwarts champion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Wincing, Harry unclenched his fist from the small spiked fruit he was meant to be chopping. The cuts had been pulled open, and blood was now spread quite liberally on the chunks. He was suddenly and vividly reminded of the night when his blood had been in a potion before. It wouldn't do to put it in another, but there really wasn't any way to get rid of it, and Snape certainly wasn't going to let him get more ingredients now that they had begun.

"Malfoy," Harry said under his breath. "I'd really appreciate it if for once you'd just _shut up._"

"Five points for speaking in class, Mr Potter," said a voice from above him.

"Yes sir," Harry forced out.

"And another three for…sloppy cuts," Snape continued whilst Malfoy sniggered. Harry didn't miss the pun on his unintentionally slashed hands. "Clean those up," he said before he swept away.

"Ah, now where were we?" Draco continued. "Oh yes, your failed love life. Did it end before or after the imaginary Dark Lord killed your precious little friend?"

Harry's hands began to shake in anger as he reached out to drop the fruit into the cauldron, and unbeknownst to him, so did the various cauldrons around the room.

Draco bent closer to him, not noticing the shaking, and dropped his voice so that only Harry could hear him. "Or, were you just so bitter that you decided to kill him yourself?"

Several things happened simultaneously. Harry's shaking hands unclenched, and the bloody chunks of fruit fell towards the liquid below. His already fragile control snapped with the action, and he rounded on the blond next to him, intent on throwing a nice, heavy punch into his stuck up aristocratic nose. However, a blast of unrefined magic spilled out of him, and memories of the fourth year accident filled him. Almost all circumstances were the same – Malfoy's provocation, the blast of magic the…damage. It had been the same last time, with Malfoy provoking him and then him finally losing control…

The cauldrons around him were forced into the air with a thunderclap of noise, their contents sloshing out, mixing for a moment near the ceiling before falling and drenching the room.

The cauldrons themselves had appeared to melt upon impacting with the floor, and the ruined healing potions hissed and became gaseous in plumes of black vapour.

And in the middle of it all, stood a very shocked Harry Potter.

---

**Notes:** The Years: In case I get more people telling me that the Tri-wizard Tournament was in the 4th year, and that Harry never exploded a classroom, I refer you to a note at the top of the first chapter that explains that I messed up the times. People can't miss two notes saying the same thing in a chapter, can they :)


	33. A Visit To Another Realm

---

**A Visit To Another Realm**

---

For a moment, there was absolute silence. The melted metal solidified at a startling rate, and even the students who had been struck with it could only whimper weakly in pain as the heat of the substance suddenly evaporated, leaving solid metal embedded in their skin.

Thick, swirling black clouds of vaporised potion hung in the air, and Harry took an involuntary and panicked breath.

Even his fourth year hadn't been this bad. There were smoking holes in the tables where hot metal had burnt through it, and all the furniture in the near vicinity had been reduced to splinters. Most students were on the floor, and several were unconscious. Malfoy had an open gash on his forehead where he had struck the desk, and his skin was welting around the metal that had spilt on him. In some places it had burnt deep enough into his skin that Harry could see patches of bone before it solidified.

"Potter!" Snape bellowed, eyes flashing with rage, and Harry took another deep, scared breath.

There was no way he could have done this! How could he have done it again?! How in Merlin's name had he managed to melt metal? So many people were hurt, and the potion…the potion!

A strong hand grasped his arm, and he found himself face to face with a snarling Severus Snape. "You are to go directly to the Headmaster's office and not stop on your way but to tell the first person you see to fetch Pomfrey," he spat.

Time didn't seem to be functioning properly for Harry, because he found himself standing in front of the gargoyle with no memory of how he had got there. He hoped he had sent someone for the nurse.

He stared at the rough contours of the statue and wondered dazedly how he was supposed to get in. It came as a distant shock to realise that Dumbledore wouldn't suddenly appear behind him with those twinkling eyes and offer him the familiar boiled sweets before telling him of some obscure candy that was the password. He didn't even know if the man was still in the school.

He shuddered as he thought of those lying hurt and severely burnt in the Potions lab.

It seemed to be both an eternity and nothing more than a few seconds before a familiar black form appeared, striding down the hall. Snape whispered the password with a livid expression, and herding Harry before him they entered the Headmaster's office.

Not a thing had changed since the man's disappearance. Everything was as it had been – the little whirring devices on the desk, the dozing portraits, and Fawkes's stand, which was now conspicuous in its emptiness.

"Follow me, Potter, and if you even _think_ of running away, I will personally see you expelled and worse," the Potion's Master told him coldly. Harry could only swallow and obey, his dazed mind still not functioning properly.

Malfoy had been bleeding…people were unconscious. There was a potentially poisonous potion in the air…was Snape going to let him die? Had he inhaled enough to make him sick? Had _others_ inhaled it? Undoubtedly.

They turned off from the main office, entering an antechamber and then a passworded corridor. Harry followed, his brain slowly rewinding and reactivating. He was going to see the Headmaster. He had inhaled a possibly dangerous potion. He had lost control…

The door at the end of the short corridor was pushed open, and Harry gasped. The room within was a simple bedroom, and the bed was furnished with plain white sheets. However, this was not what had elicited the noise. Dumbledore lay in said bed, pallid and drawn, his skin hanging limply off his bones, which were now quite prominently revealed, lending him an almost skeletal look. The eyes remained blank and unseeing in the sockets, still clouded over with white, but the glow emitting from them was so faint as to be unrecognisable. All the burning power that had been in them was gone.

"Severus?" the prone form asked, and Harry was appalled to hear the weakness and raspy quality of his voice. Voldemort's magic leeching had certainly done its job.

"Oh god," Harry whispered.

"Headmaster," Snape said, inclining his head a little despite the man's obvious lack of sight. "I have brought Potter with me."

"I have…spoken to you…already, Severus," he wheezed.

"The matter has passed out of your hands," Snape told him curtly. "Sebastian will be arriving in a matter of minutes."

Gesturing Harry into a chair, the man crossed to Dumbledore and laid a hand to his forehead, checking temperature and then pulse. All Harry could do was watch, mind still working wildly. Why was he here? Was he being expelled? Dumbledore…was he going to die? Why was Mercury coming? Why in Merlin's name had they trusted Snape of all people to look after Dumbledore?

The thin Mind Arts professor entered the room a few minutes later, expression blank and inexpressive. He looked at Harry with dark, inscrutable eyes before nodding to Snape.

"Severus, you realise that there is only a small possibility that this will work?" he asked. Snape merely snapped at him.

"As you have told me a thousand times, but at the moment I judge Albus's life to be of greater importance than that of Potter's."

At this, Harry felt his eyes widen in surprise. Oh Merlin, they really were going to kill him. A sense of deep fear rose in his breast, reminding him uncomfortably of the last time he had faced death. Even Voldemort had had the courtesy to allow him a duel.

"I-I'm not going to die," he stuttered, hating himself for the quaver in his voice. Snape turned towards him with a malicious sneer, and Harry fumbled in his mind for a way to escape, any way!

Slytherin! Slytherin could help, he had before! Casting wildly around, he searched for a familiar curling snake hidden in the stone, anything to help him, but despite his eyes scouring the plain walls, they remained conspicuously empty.

A gentle hand closed over his shoulder, and Harry panicked, jerking away and reaching for his wand, only to find it flying out of his hand and into Snape's.

"Honestly Potter," the man jeered, "your fabled Gryffindor courage failing you?"

"You're not going to die," Mercury remonstrated, replacing his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Trust me."

For a moment, Harry remained silent, going over the man's words, before letting out a laugh that bordered on hysterical.

"No choice really, is there?" he asked bitterly, and caught the scowl Mercury sent to Snape with what could have been amusement had he not felt so wrong-footed.

"Did you even ask the boy Severus?" he said, before shaking his head and turning back to him. "We think you may be able to help Albus, and without losing your life in the process. For whatever reason, I was unfit for breaking the link, and the headmaster was hesitant to allow you to try."

Blinking, Harry surveyed the three men in the room. Snape was standing with crossed arms scowling at him in fury, Mercury had adopted an expression he wore when teaching, and Albus…looked no more alive than a corpse.

"But…why?" he asked. "If I can stop this, why wouldn't he let me?"

Snape opened his mouth to protest, but Mercury cut him off. "Because, there are risks involved and it would be unfortunate to link your magic to the very man who is trying to reach you, hmm?" he paused, gauging Harry's reaction. "Will you help, despite the risks? It could save him, Harry."

He flinched a little. The use of his name had hit him just as it was supposed to. Gritting his teeth a little against his resistance, he acquiesced, still wondering vaguely why he wasn't being punished for injuring the students and blowing up a classroom. Or maybe this was his punishment?

"Good," Mercury said. "Now, from the groundwork reading you have done on Leglimency," he began, and in the background Snape gave a snort of disbelief that told him that he doubted he had done _any_ reading, "you will understand that someone can guide your mind."

Harry nodded marginally. "You're going to do that then?" he questioned calmly, but inside his head was reeling. "Two Leglimens, and you're going to control my mind?" he asked with hesitation.

Mercury nodded. _Great,_ he thought, _the two people I really don't want in my head. Still, bite the bullet – it'll save Dumbledore._

"Uh…why me?" he asked in confusion.

"Because you just happened to have decided to follow those moronic Gryffindor urges and eavesdrop on the Ritual," Snape sneered, "and now you'll be reaping the harvest. _Leglimens!"_ he shouted.

Harry jerked back, images and memories reeling before his eyes – _he was being chased up a tree by Aunt Marge's dog, he was storming away from the headmaster's office and into the upper sector, he was clutching the golden egg to his chest as the dragon snapped at the tail of his broom_-

In a rush everything went fuzzy and blank, and he was filled with a feeling of contentment. _Similar to the Imperius_, he thought.

_Stand._

His legs began to obey, but there was an itch in the back of his mind that was bothering him, something that shouldn't be there. He wanted to scrabble and scratch at it, but whenever he tried to it shifted out of his reach.

Through the haze, he could see someone holding his arms at his sides. _Ah, Mercury_, he thought. _Mind Arts._ Occlumency. With the difficulty of grinding a stone to dust with his hands, he drew his dream to mind. Snape was in his mind, and whatever he had thought a moment ago he didn't want him there.

He was standing in a hazy stone tunnel, those hands still holding his arms firmly barely visible. He tried to take those fumbled steps, reaching out a hand, and the place seemed to crystallise before him at the first echoing drip of water in the distance. The cave-in was barely visible before him in the dim light, but he rested a hand on the stone before slipping into it.

There came a horrible wrenching as his hand disappeared into the barrier, as if something was being ripped out of his head, reminding him of those occasional TV shows he'd seen where tracking bugs had been removed from the heroes, from under their flesh.

In a huff of breath he landed on the other side. Memories flooded back into his head and the haze in his mind dissipated completely.

"That bastard!" he yelled, and it echoed off the walls of the tunnel, making him jump back in surprise. He'd never remained totally conscious in his mind-world before.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself, looking around. The cave-in was behind him – comforting cold stone against his hands. "And fuck Snape too," he added for good measure. "Could have at least asked."

Breathing deeply, he took stock of the situation. For the moment, it seemed, he was trapped in a construct of his own mind, and he verified its completeness by rapping the rock with his fist, hard enough to scrape the skin off his knuckles. Definitely real.

_Calm, Harry_, he thought,_ take it one step at a time_. Right. Well, first, he was stuck here for awhile. Secondly, he was meant to save Dumbledore by being directed mentally. A little thrill of pride went through him at being able to block Snape – he was sure that that was what he had done now.

Thinking back to their Mind Arts lessons, he had learnt that given time, they would begin to shelter themselves and their memories in the constructed visions, gradually moving all vulnerable thoughts and ideas into a defended sanctuary. At least, that was the theory.

"Right," he repeated out loud. "If they were meant to guide me, then there must be some link in my own mind," he reasoned to himself, ignoring the gentle echoes around the tunnel and the nagging sensation that he was supposed to be touching Dumbledore for it to work properly.

"If I search hard enough, I might be able to still do it. But…if I get lost…" he trailed off, looking at the wall behind him, and the veritable maze of corridors ahead of him.

He sighed.

"If they had told me what I was meant to be looking for, I might have had a better chance," he mumbled.

Taking another fortifying breath, he moved forwards. _At least this way I won't have to deal with Snape about destroying the Potions classroom._ The tunnels were dark, and he was soon completely disorientated by their twists and turns. He suspected that his mental landscape moved about in a similar way to the castle. Occasionally he passed walls that were dotted with familiar silvery crystals, but after inspecting them he left them alone. After all, it wouldn't do to disturb memories.

It was a good deal of time he spent wandering around before he smacked his palm to his forehead. As Hermione told him regularly, often the simplest solution was the best. Withdrawing his wand, he paused. Surely it wouldn't hurt to try a simple spell? Focusing, he cast a basic 'Point-Me'.

"Dumbledore," he said firmly, and the wand spun on his palm, pointing towards a shadowy side passage he hadn't even noticed before then. He ducked into the narrow passageway and walked until he encountered another branch, casting the 'Point-Me' charm once more.

As he drew closer, he perceived a tendril of light that seemed to emanate the feeling he got from the old man. He followed it, careful not to touch, until he found himself looking from the tunnel and out over a chasm of blackness. The only way across seemed to be the thickening tendril of light, which had broadened into a bridge-like structure that crossed the void.

_Here we go then,_ he thought, before reaching out a hand to touch the glimmering thread.

---

In the Headmaster's room, the two teachers broke away from their heated argument as the prostrate man let out a long gasp for breath and Harry Potter's prone body ceased to struggle and became limp.

---

A turmoil of distracted memories hit him as he was plunged into a bleak snowy landscape. He was smiling as McGonagall made a joke about his beard, he was watching a baby Harry Potter held in the arms of his mother with joy, he was hunched weeping over the body of his youngest sister, he was rising to deal revenge to her murderer, he was holding a smoky glass ball in his hand, and a tiny version of Trelawney was rising from it, opening her mouth to speak…

_There._

Harry spotted a thread of the same blinding light he had seen streaming from the teachers' eyes during the Ritual, and had fastened itself lightly to the edge of his mind. It was thin and stretched – even more so than in his own mind, but it was definitely there, and as bright as ever. Following it to the borders of the snowy and mountainous lands, he found it growing stronger. Following a gut sensation, he walked as far from where he had arrived as he could, until he was staring into a similar black void as the one he had just crossed. He'd reached the edge of Dumbledore's mind again.

Drawing a deep breath against the icy air, he shouted in desperation, "Just leave him!" A great rush of sensation rose around him, and then he was swallowed up, fading into the blackness.

---

Severus Snape felt a coil of panic rise in his chest as he checked for a pulse in the lifeless body of the Boy-Who-Lived. His breathing and vital functions appeared to have stopped the moment he had gone limp. With a slight trembling of hands, he removed a small vial from his pocket and proceeded to cast the best suited healing spells he knew before forcing he potion down the boy's unresisting throat. Merlin knew he wouldn't be the one to have inadvertently killed the Boy-Who-Lived.

---

Harry blinked, before shutting his eyes against the harsh light with a wince. Everything in his body hurt, and his muscles seemed to protest with each breath he took.

"Awake then?" a voice asked, and Harry searched around his muddled head before identifying it. Mind Arts. Mercury. Sebastian Annua Mercurialis.

"Yes," Harry croaked, his voice sounding and feeling raw to his ears. In a rush, his memory caught up with him, and he would have pulled himself upright had it not been such a painful effort. "Dumble…dore," he forced out.

"As well as could be expected," Mercury replied cryptically, and Harry experimentally opened his eyes. "No, no. Leave your eyes closed for the moment," the Mind Arts professor said, intercepting him. "I must praise your undoubtedly impressive efforts. Albus is no longer being drained."

"But that…doesn't mean he's going to survive," Harry whispered in understanding.

"No," Mercury sighed, "it does not. But the chances are far greater than they would have been had you not helped."

At that moment the school nurse decided to make an appearance, and Harry found himself swallowing several potions and falling back into the bed with a sigh.

---

Gentle sunlight was streaming through the windows, and Harry blinked blearily up at the ceiling. It was familiar and comforting to see the faint cracks in the paint-work he had learnt to recognise so well, and let a small smile cross his face. Just as yet, he couldn't remember where he was, but he knew that when he did, he would recognise it.

Dust motes were floating down through the air, and he amused himself in watching the little golden particles. He imagined that they were miniature Golden Snitches, so tiny that their rapid fluttering appeared sluggish. Was it even possible to spell dust motes?

"Mr Potter, you're up and awake then?"

_Ah. Pomfrey._

"Ye-" Harry tried, but was forced to cough a little before he could speak clearly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Then you will be able to drink this yourself," she said firmly, handing him a steaming vial. "Make sure you drink it while it's hot," she told him.

Wincing a little at the stiffness still in his muscles, he pulled himself upright whilst Poppy busied herself with propping pillows up behind him. Eyeing the vial mistrustfully, he took a deep breath and downed the lurid green potion with a splutter. It seemed that it was technically impossible to create a nice tasting remedy in the Wizarding World. Perhaps that was how he could make his fortune if Voldemort didn't kill him first: Harry Potter's Fabulous Tasting Every-Flavour Potions!

"Thanks," he said, as the ache eased from his muscles.

"That's not a problem, dear," she said with a hint humour in her eyes. "I have a veritable collection of potions purely for your use."

Harry chuckled a little – he liked the Medical matron, and after all his years here she expressed a small fondness for him too. She was walking away when she paused, raising a hand to gesture at the door.

"You have a visitor," she told him before adding at his hopeful expression, "no, none of your little school friends, they can wait for later."

To his surprise, although it really shouldn't have been, Mercury approached his bed once more, moving a chair to the side of the bed with a flick of his wrist.

"I see you are feeling better then," he remarked, and Harry nodded.

"Yes, thank you sir."

"I expect you have questions, hmm?" the man asked, a slight smile on his face as Harry's brain began to work overtime.

"I…uh – what about the potions accident?" he asked, suddenly remembering the incidents that had brought him to his current condition. "What about…Malfoy?" he forced out, remembering the boys wounds. They had looked dire.

"Ah," Mercury hummed. "Well, all students are well, although Mr Malfoy is quite another case in that respect." Seeing Harry opening his mouth to question, he continued. "His circumstances are a little different, although almost all of them have been affected."

"You might remember that the metal pierced his skin to the bone." Harry winced guiltily. "However, the uncontrolled blast of magic reacted…unexpectedly, forming a phenomenon commonly called 'Soul Metal'." This time Harry couldn't repress the shudder, as Wormtail's silver hand immediately rose to mind. "Considered quite the Dark creation," Mercury told him casually, whilst observing him carefully.

"Since he was the closest to you, he received the greatest impact of the magical blast, although a few of those around you also have spots of Soul Metal. Of course," he said distantly, "the properties of the Soul Metal greatly depend on the material of the cauldron."

"Properties?" Harry ghosted, and Mercury turned an impassive face towards him.

"Oh yes. Strength, Durability and several others. Mr Malfoy has already been taken home by his father, and you should be eternally thankful that Minerva prevented him from seeing you too," he said ominously, but it was ruined by the wicked smile that graced his lips for the briefest of moments.

Harry laughed nervously. "So how is it that Snape isn't here berating me now?"

"Albus saw it fit to intervene," Mercury said, dropping the proverbial bombshell. "Did I forget to mention that he is in much better shape?" he asked humorously.

Harry blinked for a moment before laughing genuinely. "That was cruel of you sir," he said. "But Dumbledore is all right?"

"In a sense, yes."

"In a sense?" Harry asked with foreboding. Mercury's impassive expression returned.

"It would be better that you speak to him of that yourself," he said smoothly.

"Oh…okay then," Harry said tentatively. "So…uh…how long was I out then? And why?"

"You have woken several times in the week and a half required for you to recuperate, although I doubt you remember anything but the last two. I have been checking up on you," he informed him.

"Why you?" Harry blurted out, before checking himself. "No offence intended."

"None taken. No, I am here because I was present at the event, and thus it was my duty. Besides, Severus was reluctant to fulfil the role. Now, for your second question," he began. "You were ill because you managed to disconnect your entire mind from your body, thus annulling all of your bodily functions," he said calmly. "For all intents and purposes, you were dead for several moments."

Harry gaped. "How…" he trailed off.

"By rejecting Severus's albeit unfocused attempt to control and direct your mind, you retreated behind your defences." His expression hardened a little. "I have no concept of how you managed to jump to Albus's mind, but when you did, you took your own mind with you. It is not something for an untrained student to try," he said grimly.

"I just used a 'Point Me' charm in my head, and I found this silver thread thing that went to the headmaster," Harry said quietly, and was rewarded with the widening of Mercury's eyes.

"A thread in your mind? Oh, interesting, very interesting. That would explain why we were unable to use myself to break the connection."

Harry frowned, confused. "If you don't mind me asking, why couldn't you have done it?"

"I," Mercury began, "although reasonably magically powerful, are not in league with Albus. Therefore, the link you just mentioned would have not been established in a usable state during the Ritual."

"You, Harry," he said, addressing the green-eyed boy before him, "appear to be more powerful. You see, Magicus Potentia is consumed by a wizard in order to draw power from those around them, and as such it lowers all defences and at the same time broadcasts and frees the consumer's own magic. _That_, is why it is so powerful, and so dangerous."

"Since the rest of the staff were willing, Albus being the most powerful was able to draw on their readily available magical power, and implement it for the purpose of strengthening the wards. However, he would also be drawing marginally on those who are magical around him – you and I."

"Then, why was I able to get into his mind and you weren't?" Harry asked.

"Magicus Potentia draws on magic in proportion to the magical strength of that being. Albus merely drew the same proportion from each witch or wizard, although magical strength does have an effect on the 'stamina' of the subject, which is why some teachers were to be removed earlier than others. That is also why some were more severely effected than others," Mercury explained.

"But," Harry reasoned slowly, "if there was a link from me to the headmaster, and I wasn't even in the Ritual, then surely the staff's magic has been tapped as well?"

"No, no, that is the beauty of the Ritual. The link is to the mind, enabling the subject to provide their magic as they choose – the reason that all the teachers had to be willing. For that same reason, they were unaffected by the draining afterwards while Albus was targeted, and targeted he was, for in leading the Ritual he was the conduit for the largest source of magic, as well as owning a vast reservoir of his own." Mercury paused briefly. "The link in my mind simply represented a fraction of my magical strength, it would not have been strong enough to aid me, but since it is proportional to magical strength too, you were able to utilise it."

"However," he said, cutting himself off, "we diverge. After crossing to his mind, what did you do?"

Harry blinked a little, recalling the hazy images. "I…was in this really mountainous, snowy place, and I could see all these memories as if was Dumbledore," he paused sadly, thinking of the headmaster's sister. "I saw things I probably shouldn't have."

"Naturally," Mercury agreed. "You are untrained in Leglimency, and therefore unable to distinguish between memories and select a specific set."

"Yes," Harry said hesitantly, "well, after that, I followed the link, and I came to this kind of black abyss."

"The edge of his mind," Mercury interjected. "It is worth noting that if the headmaster had not been in the lingering and vulnerable state from the potion, you would have been forcefully rejected into that 'black abyss'."

"Ah," Harry said eloquently, suddenly thankful that he hadn't known what he could have been throwing himself into before. "Well, when I got to the edge of the place, I just said… 'leave him'…and, uh…the link broke."

"Broke?" Mercury repeated, surprise and disbelief written all over his face.

"Yeah. Just snapped like that. And…I can't really remember anything after that. I suppose I went back to my body then," Harry theorised.

"Broke…" Mercury repeated, voice thoughtful and slightly suspicious. "Get dressed, and then follow me. I will be waiting by the door," he commanded suddenly, standing and leaving a very confused and rather worried boy behind.

---


	34. Flee

---

**Flee**

---

It took little time for Harry to tug off the Hospital Wing clothes and put on his own, which were lying folded in a set of drawers beside his bed. He chose to ignore the slight shaking of his hands – both from exhaustion and from worry. Something in the way his professor had repeated what he had said had put him on edge. It wasn't a feeling Harry had grown to like.

Mercury was waiting for him, as promised, by the doors of the infirmary, and walked at a far more leisurely pace than usual so as to make it easier for Harry as they followed the familiar route towards the Headmaster's office.

The feeling of apprehension changed to dread as Harry caught on to their destination, and for a brief moment he considered bolting, but swallowing his nervousness he shook his head free of all such silly notions. However, the foreboding that heralded his arrival at the man's office didn't so much as dissipate but intensify. Something bad was going to happen, he just knew.

They followed the same side door and corridor as last time, and Harry was unpleasantly surprised to see Snape sitting casually on a chair beside Dumbledore's bed.

The Potion's Master sent a dark scowl at him, but Harry was distracted by the sight of the headmaster sitting upright, staring at him with some of the familiar twinkle in his eyes. He remained unhealthily thin, and looked drawn, but the drained quality that had possessed him last time had been replaced. The most stunning change of all, however, were the clear blue eyes that stared back at him – pale yes, but not the creepy, opaque white they had been before.

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Harry walked hesitantly towards him. "You're better then," he stated carefully, and Dumbledore smiled gently.

"Better, yes, but not myself just yet," he replied cryptically, his voice hoarse. "Draw up a seat, dear boy. I have come to understand that I owe my improved condition to none other than yourself."

Harry opened his mouth, shut it, and tried to think of a way to get out of accepting responsibility for nearly forfeiting his own life for Dumbledore's.

"Say nothing then, child. Sometimes it is better that way. In any case, I give you my utmost thanks," he said gravely.

Something Slytherin arose in Harry's breast at that moment, and under his relief and gratefulness at seeing the man so restored, a seed of discontent began to grow. After all, hadn't he discovered some rather damning things about the man?

_Such as his not training me, for one. Not training me so that when I die, I take Voldemort with me,_ he thought angrily, before putting a check on them. _I'm jumping to conclusions. I'm not trained in control, but it may not be for the reasons I suppose. Remember that, Harry._

"If you want a way to thank me," Harry said, watching from afar as he spoke, unable to stop himself, "then you might teach me how to control my magic." With a glance at the seething Snape, he added, "you must have heard about the Potions…incident."

Dumbledore's expression became quiet and thoughtful. "Yes," he agreed, "Severus did inform me of it. I suspect he wished to…kill two birds with one stone in bringing you up here after that, despite my better wishes."

Strangely, Snape remained silent during this exchange, and although he was still fuming, there was an oddly satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"You didn't address the other issue sir," Harry said, as politely as he could. Dumbledore sighed.

"No, I did not," he agreed, before turning to Mercury and speaking before Harry could intervene once more. "Sebastian, I believe that you have something to say?"

The Mind Arts Professor nodded emotionlessly before glancing at Harry. "I have reason to suspect that Mr Potter is tied intimately to the Chills."

Harry's sense of foreboding skyrocketed as Snape's eyes lit up in understanding. Wincing a little, he watched as the Potion Master's head swung towards him and a look of intense mistrust passed across his face.

"You thought it would get past us then, Mr Potter?" he asked with carefully controlled neutrality. "That stunt you pulled in the Quidditch match…the increased speed…" he trailed off thoughtfully.

"It wasn't increased speed," Harry said quietly, mentally flinching as all eyes in the room turned to him. "Time slows down, and all of you…uh, stay in slow motion."

"This implies that you do not," Mercury remarked, cutting off Snape as the man opened his mouth. Harry hesitated and shook his head.

"I…I stay the right speed, but everything goes all dazed, and I hear a sound like…like tons and tons of water crashing through the corridors, and then the Chill arrives," he said uncertainly, refraining to add that he had not moved around of his own volition during the recent ones.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, raising a hand to stop the Potion Master's impending tirade. "The Chills have been occurring for some time before Harry arrived at the castle, and he would not have been able to create an item of such power, even if the Underage Magic Restriction were not in place. I believe him to be the subject of very powerful, and very dark magic."

"The…uh, I mean, the Chills stopped when you were…you know…" Harry trailed off, gesturing lamely.

"I have already been informed of that, never to fear," Dumbledore said, regarding him seriously. "However, I must ask if you would permit us to run a few tests over you in order to discover the nature of the enchantment."

Harry swallowed anxiously. Underlying the man's tone was a steel that told him that no matter if he refused, the tests would still go ahead. Sighing internally, he nodded.

He didn't recognise the spells they cast on him, although a few were hospital protocol. What he did notice however, was that only the two teachers cast the spells, whilst Dumbledore merely suggested them. Surely he had enough magic left for a few diagnostic spells?

Obviously not.

The results appeared to confuse the staff members, and in the end they turned away and announced them inconclusive. Snape in particular seemed infuriated by his failure to identify anything. The spells completed, Harry was politely dismissed. Standing from the chair, he was halfway across the room before he changed his mind and strode back.

"You still haven't answered me about my control," he said with a confidence he didn't feel.

"It is safe to say, Harry, that it is for your protection," Dumbledore said heavily.

"Safe for my protection? Safe for my protection _how_?!" he said, his threads of calm dissipating. "How is my lack of knowledge and control supposed to help me when I'm facing down some Dark Lord out for my blood? How is it supposed to stop more students from getting blown up because I _can't control my magic_?!" he growled, and felt the horrible stirring of wild magic seeping from him, vibrating through the floor.

"You have adequate control, Harry," Dumbledore reinforced.

"What!" Snape growled indignantly, losing whatever barrier had stopped him from speaking on the matter earlier. "The insolent brat doesn't have a shred of it! Not even enough to protect himself from utterly demolishing an _entire classroom_, and definitely not enough to prevent himself from destroying yet another!"

Harry couldn't stop himself from bristling at the man's accusatory words, and was almost surprised to feel his hair crackling with magic. _Like electricity_, he noted absently, focusing on trying to calm his breathing and bringing it back under control.

"-telling you for years! He cannot severely injure an entire class and yet still be allowed to remain untrained!" Snape was arguing heatedly. Dumbledore raised a hand to his temples, closing his eyes with a deep frown.

"Since you leave me no choice, I will explain to you the circumstances which force me to make this decision," he said quietly. "Sit down, Harry."

Harry couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the command. "I prefer to stand," he bit out. Snape shot him another glare, but Harry ignored it.

"As you wish. I have already told you, Harry, the Head of House Potter is currently unaware of the status," Dumbledore said wearily. "Access to more than half of your full powers would alert them to that fact, and the repercussions of those actions would be dire."

Harry's expression hardened. Once more, the man was churning out excuses. Why shouldn't he know the Head of his family? What was stopping the man telling him who it was? Surely if it was someone who was clearly malicious, then he wouldn't seek him out anyway? With these half-answers, his curiosity was forcing him into action, and he no longer hesitated in his decision. He would get the training required to discover the Head of House Potter – and he knew just who to get it from.

"Thank you for your time, Headmaster, Professor Snape, Professor Mercury," he said stiffly, nodding to each. "I think it's time I get back to my dormitory now."

"Harry," Dumbledore said with concern. "Do not let this drive you to desperate measures. Please heed my warning," he beseeched him. Harry assumed his best deferential expression and left towards the door with a nod.

---

His trunk was light in his hands, Featherweight charms taking the strain off his arms. The updated Invisibility Cloak rested over his shoulder, hiding both him and his belongings. In the tower, a note lay on his bed notifying his friends of his departure.

A decision had been reached. He would not leave Slytherin's quarters until he was both proficient in magic, and knew who the Head of his family was. No matter that it was the head of the Slytherin house teaching him, or that he had been told the man was dangerous from many sources. He had read the books on Apprenticeship, and he knew that the rituals involved quite firmly protected the student.

Lifting the trunk a little higher off the ground, he skirted an unfamiliar Ravenclaw and turned off down a corridor.

For years he had been drifting through life on luck and raw magical power. He knew he didn't have even a quarter of the knowledge Hermione did, nor did he have the innate knowledge that Ron and Ginny had due to being brought up in the Wizarding World. He had been quickly disillusioned of his resolution to do well and learn as much as he could – it had simply become a new school with the same old homework, despite the wonders of discovering a whole new community.

_Well, no more_, he promised himself. He had been offered the chance of a lifetime, and it would give him the opportunity and the power to finally be able to fight back against the traps that seemed determined to crop up around him. Voldemort's resurrection had solidified his decision. He _needed_ to be able to fight him when he met him, and he was sure that there would be no mocking duel as there had been before.

And he had hurt people around him.

With a pang, he hoped that Hermione was unscathed. At least she had been sitting on the opposite side of the room when it had happened. Draco, despite the enmity between them, was still just another student – like him, and even if he had often fantasised about him coming to harm, he didn't want to be the one to have actually _caused_ it. Without the much-needed training, he didn't know how much damage could befall those around him.

Not only that, but how long would it be before the Ministry clamped down on him if he caused accidents like this? No doubt Lucius Malfoy was at this moment negotiating retaliation for his son's condition, and if he were untrained, he would be unable to deal with it.

And it was his _family_ he was talking about.

All his life he had longed for a family – a mother or father, a loving aunt or uncle. He had Sirius, but that was all the family he had. Even the Mirror of Erised had shown him that what he truly desired was family, and he had no doubt that Dumbledore knew that too. What _right_ did he have to keep what little remained of it from him?

Checking that he was alone in the corridor, he hissed softly to the tiny, crude carving of the snake, and laid his hand on the stone before him. It was time to give his answer.

---

In the Gryffindor Common room, Ginny's shaking hand held the brief note Harry had left behind. Ron and Hermione stood behind her, arguing in whispers, but the redheaded girl ignored them, wrapped so thickly in her own thoughts.

'_Ron, Hermione, Ginny,_

_I'm tired of trying to fight battles I'm bound to lose. Hermione will probably have told you about the potions accident, and it only proves my point. Since I have no formal training, I'm going to find and _accept_ some. When I next see you, I will be able to fight my battles rather than blundering through them armed only with luck and hope._

_I know you will understand, especially you Ginny. Tell Snuffles and Moony not to worry about me, or do anything stupid. I'll be safe._

_Love,_

_Harry_'

Blinking away the tears that threatened, she folded the letter and her face creased in anguish. Harry was gone, and she knew just where. Things were going to get very much more difficult them.

---

"Salazar!" Harry shouted down the illusion of the three passageways. With grim satisfaction, he watched as it flickered and faded, until he was left standing in the familiar blue flame-lit room. He still couldn't get over how impressive the illusion really was, including as it did all four senses.

"Little one," the Founder said indifferently. "It has been a long time since your last visit."

Despite himself Harry couldn't help the almost feral grin that crept over his face. Now he had made his decision, it felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his chest, and a whole menagerie of possibilities awaited him.

Dropping the trunk to the ground, which Salazar regarded with a raised eyebrow and an interested expression, Harry dropped to one knee before the portrait. He hadn't really thought about it, but it seemed the correct thing to do given what he was about to enter into.

"I accept your offer of apprenticeship, Salazar," he said, before adding wryly, "greatest of the Hogwarts four."

Before him, the dark haired Founder laughed delightedly, those intense eyes brimming with satisfaction. "Oh, little one, it is certainly good to see you battling your inadequacies with a decision finally," he drawled. "As always, fate prevails. Enter, my 'future apprentice', and we'll begin," he said, appearing to relish the term. His pleasure was infectious, and despite all that had happened, Harry's grin only broadened further.

Only a short while later Harry found himself sitting at the table on the first floor of Slytherin's quarters, drawing up a contract of Apprenticeship.

"No undue punishments," Harry put in, and the clause appeared on the document below the others already listed.

"Agreed," the founder replied. "The right to make educational decisions despite that you may deem them unsuitable. In many cases, you will be misguided," he added.

Harry paused to consider it before acquiescing. "Agreed. That you will lend whatever help you can to me."

"Within reason," the man interjected.

"Within reason," Harry agreed.

"For the primary section of the training, access to your mind," Salazar said casually.

"Access to my mind?" Harry asked, incredulous. Slytherin regarded him slowly.

"You will remember from the texts, that it is common practice to assure that the mentor is not being taken advantage of. It is also a signal of trust, not to mention necessary for lessons in mental defence," he told him.

"You can…can you even do that?" Harry asked, curious despite himself.

"You would be surprised," Salazar told him smugly.

"All right then. On the condition that you do not abuse my trust and use my memories," he said dubiously.

"Agreed," Salazar said offhandedly. "Now, for the time limit…I propose to consider your training done when one of us puts forwards the idea – namely yourself. Your skills will be judged by an external and qualified individual which we may find at the appropriate time."

Harry considered this carefully. If it was judged externally… "Agreed."

It took them some time to work out the fine points of the contract, and they went over it several times once the clauses had been completed. Finally, when both pronounced that it was done, Harry removed a quill from his bag and signed it, watching in wonder as Salazar's own elegant black script bled out of the paper afterwards.

"How common are Apprenticeships nowadays?" Harry asked slowly. He was thinking of what little he knew of such documents, and the current protocol was that the Ministry retained a copy.

"As I understand it, very few," Salazar told him.

"Will the Ministry get a copy?" Harry asked.

"I can say with complete certainty that they will not," Salazar said, eyes glinting with something unintelligible. "Even if such a document is procured, I have taken precautions."

"Ever the paranoid one," Harry remarked, making Salazar chuckle.

"Oh, very much so. But everything in this world can be undone. However, the time and effort it takes to undo something, especially if there are ten such enchantments waiting to be broken, will more than likely put off those not truly driven."

Harry grinned. He liked the way the man's mind worked. However, his smile faltered when he remembered several of the suspicions that had kept him from the man in the first place.

"Did you make Dumbledore sick?" he asked bluntly. "Did you leech his magic?"

Salazar blinked in surprise, before chuckling. "Oh, little one, how I wish it were me. No, I am afraid that I had little to do with the event at all."

Harry frowned. "Little to do with it?" he persisted.

Salazar broke into a shark-like smile. "Once I explained my identity, his portraits were more than happy to let me watch his failing strength."

The immediate reaction to this was disgust, and Harry pulled back a little from the portrait before him.

"How could you just watch him dying?" Harry asked angrily.

"I assure you, little one," Salazar said, eyes darkening, "that his machinations with me are of equal offence. But that is not a subject you need to know, not yet." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Salazar raised a hand to stay his protests. "I realise that you have been restricted from information far too much in your few years, but we have just entered into a bargain of trust, even if the spellwork has yet to be completed."

He paused, eyeing Harry contemplatively for a moment. "Stand up."

"What? Why?" Harry asked, surprised at the sudden change of pace.

"Stand up," the Founder repeated. Frowning, Harry did so.

With a wave of his hand, a stick of chalk floated across the room, passing Harry and dropping to the empty floor below. Blinking, Harry moved to the handrail and looked over, letting out a small exhalation of wonder at the scene below.

The chalk was zipping across the wooden flooring at great speed, drawing out a circular and intensely complicated design. Swirls and tiny circles lined the edges of the larger one, creating an elegant, symmetrical pattern, despite the evolution in it as it progressed around the edge. Harry recognised a few of the runes drawn into it from the books Hermione had occasionally referred to, but the rest of it remained unintelligible.

However, there were some words that Harry picked out, although not in his native tongue. Recognising the slanted Parselscript, he frowned and made his way down to the ground floor. Ringing the inner circle were the words:

'_Ambition leads to immortality.'_

Tearing his eyes away from the script, where the chalk was still busily drawing out elaborate patterns, his eyes sought Salazar's with a question.

"An old proverb of my family," he said, his cobalt eyes flickering with something that Harry couldn't place. "I can see that the desire to walk the road of ambition has passed down through the generations, if Lord Voldemort is to be believed."

Harry almost nodded, but caught himself at the last moment with the realisation that Salazar shouldn't know anything about his heir. "But…I-"

"You left far too many pieces for me to find, little one, but it is of no consequence," he dismissed. "In some senses, the bonds of magic such as these are stronger than the bonds of family."

Harry's brow creased a little as he thought on this, but he refrained from speaking for the moment. Less than a minute later, the chalk stopped scratching out obscure symbols and fell listlessly to the floor.

"And now we begin."

Harry did as he was directed, standing within the circle. Salazar explained briefly that its altered state had been changed to accommodate his stored soul, rather than his state as a living being, but anything further than that went straight over his head, especially when the man muttered absentmindedly about reforming equations.

Softly, Salazar began to chant. Harry hadn't even noticed at first, as it moulded so well with his previous explanations, but when it rose in volume he realised that the soft sounding words were completely incomprehensible to him. As they rose in volume, they also rose in speed, and their softness evaporated until the sounds became course and then stopped all together.

However, the magic carried on whirling.

He had begun to feel the tingling long before he had realised that Salazar was chanting, and it had grown until it became visible as a shimmering in the air, spiralling in towards him. When the chanting ceased, Harry felt that spiral of magic come rushing towards him; hitting and passing through his skin like ice.

He slumped to his knees, panting.

"Are we…done…then?" he gasped, head spinning.

As the world slowly drew to a standstill, a new voice spoke, one from behind him. "Oh no little one, we are very far from done."

---


	35. Ghosts of the Past

---

**Ghosts of the Past**

---

There was something innately horrible, Harry decided, in having the voice of the man before you address you from behind. Still shuddering and panting for breath after the massive influx of magic from the ritual, Harry barely found the strength to turn around, and when he did he wished instantly that he hadn't.

The familiar silvery translucence hovered in the air above the wooden floor, more of it still emerging. There was that angular face he had come to know well, the dark hair appearing now in silver locks that hung to his shoulders, and the _eyes_. It seemed that death had not waited to lay claim that expressive quality from the Founder's eyes, and they remained as vivid as ever.

"Sa-Salazar?" Harry choked out.

The man before him, having risen completely into the room, spread his hands and smirked.

"The one and only left in existence."

The silence stretched for one long moment as Harry processed what he was seeing. _It shouldn't even be possible_, he thought numbly. He would have to contend with two with duplicates of the same person…

"Oh no, little one, not duplicates. Salazar," he said sadly, gesturing to the portrait, "remains a mere memory, although in this state we are inextricably linked. It is a constant regret that I was not able to perfect him before I died. He still lacks full character and retains flaws which I am prone to notice, knowing myself as I do better than any other."

Harry tried to recoil instinctively, but his muscles were not reacting as they should, and he found himself slumped on his side, still limp and weak from the spell. He didn't know what was more disturbing: that the Founder had read his mind without him even noticing, or that his portrait was little more than a half-characterised copy.

"So harsh Harry?" Salazar chided. "I would hardly call him a 'half-characterised copy'. He is certainly of greater refinement than any other portrait you are like to encounter. And for your other question," he paused with a sly smile, "you will find that a millennia is ample time to refine the Mind Arts, even if I have been dormant for many centuries. I guarantee that if you exist as long as I have then you will be quite capable of just as much as I am."

Taking advantage of Harry's continuing shock, he went on.

"Of course, it is to my benefit that animate Soul Artefacts with the capability of storing memory are linked to their Master. My time has not been wasted, and I have learnt much." He turned sharp eyes to him. "Especially of you, little one."

Harry snapped his mouth shut, before rethinking and opening it again to speak, but he was cut off when a silvery hand was raised to stop him. "No, no, I have only been awakened from my self imposed stasis for the duration of several minutes, and as yet have not had the chance to speak to the other portraits at length about you." Harry watched with vague horror as the man broke into a malicious smile. "I am sure that Rowena will be only too happy to accommodate me."

Harry swallowed nervously, glad that his exhausted shaking had finally subsided to a reasonable level. "Has this…how…" he began, unable to phrase his questions correctly.

Salazar smiled indulgently. "Yes little one, I am still your mentor. As I believe I have told you before, it doesn't interest me to lie to you. You do indeed remain my apprentice, and I am only too eager to teach you. As for your other questions, the ritual woke me from my slumber – quite a shock, I can assure you, to feel another consciousness link to mine but, however, not completely unexpected."

Harry opened his mouth to speak once more, but Salazar interrupted him again. "Ah, ah, ah, it is not something you need to know about yet. In due time, I will explain everything. However," he said, eyes becoming calculating, "in the meantime would be a shame not to take advantage of your unfocused state to begin your training."

"Look at me," he commanded, and Harry found his unwilling head raised from the ground, and his eyes met by the silvery orbs of the Founder. He felt himself melt into those eyes, everything else tunnelling into oblivion around him, until nothing remained but a pair of silvery spheres hanging in the air.

"Interesting choice of landscape," a voice commented from nearby, and Harry jerked himself away from the two gently glowing orbs only to meet their parallels in Salazar's face.

"How…" Harry began, but trailed off, looking around himself. He was in the caves of his dreams, the faint echo of drips as the familiar music of the scene. "We're in my mind?" he asked faintly.

"Oh yes," Salazar agreed, still surveying the place. "And it has great potential."

He frowned, reaching out to pick one of the crystals out of where it was embedded in the stone walls. Slytherin examined it carefully, turning it this way and that, before holding it up to the light of the two silvery balls that still hung in the air above them.

"Interesting choice of medium," he remarked. "Compact, powerful, difficult to access due to the planes of the surface, and it fits with ease into the surroundings. So unobtrusive, in fact, that it would likely go unnoticed."

Harry remained staring at him, shocked. "I…I didn't mean to do that with my memories," he said numbly.

"No, no, it is obviously quite accidental," Salazar said offhandedly, still regarding the crystal. "However, it shows the vast possibility for you to build your structures upon. Each mental world is different, but there is almost always more than meets the eye."

He held up the crystal in his hand, and Harry caught a flurry of snow in its depths.

"I see that you recognise the old man's mountainous land. What you saw was merely the surface, and not anything that resides within. If he had not been in turmoil, then that would have been all you would have glimpsed," Salazar told him before placing the crystal back into its stony resting-place.

Turning to where Harry stood, still feeling rather peculiarly shell-shocked, Salazar addressed him.

"The feeling will fade with time," he remarked, with a nod to Harry's still quivering hands. "But before it does, I have much to do," he said, surveying their surroundings with interest. "You, despite being powerful, have been subjected to several government subversions that render you incapable of reaching your full magical potential. I plan on correcting them."

Once more, Harry made to reply, but found himself stopped when Salazar raised his hand. This time however, he found to his dismay that when he tried to speak, he remained unwillingly mute.

He could only watch with horror as Slytherin walked down one of the passageways towards a vast colony of crystals that Harry hadn't seen before. He hovered his hand over them as if searching for something, and then with nimble fingers he selected one small crystal.

"Lumos," he said, before closing the object in his fist. When he released it, it hung immobilised in the air.

Harry's jaw became slack as he realised the implications of this. Light…light…he knew he should know the words, he knew he should know the gesture, but the path to them was missing. He couldn't even begin to remember how to create light, let alone the gestures. He doubted that even if he were shown them right now would he be able to use them. Panicking, he made to run at the ghost, but found himself frozen where he stood.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Salazar recited impassively, weighing the crystal in his hand before clamping his fist down and leaving it hanging beside the last.

Harry watched with a spear of hurt and loss going through his head. All he had worked so hard to gain was being removed before him. Slytherin recited each spell as he did his work, and at each one Harry felt the stab of anguish afresh. When all of his known spells were removed from mind, there was only one, large, lonely crystal left.

"Your wand," Salazar said with a slight twitch of the lips that almost seemed like a smile.

Trapped in the tunnels of his own mind, Harry Potter bit back an anguished cry.

---

On the other side of the school, unaware of his least favourite student's predicament, Severus Snape sat in his favourite armchair and stared into the flickering fire.

He had been reporting to Albus when a frantic McGonagall and three even more hysterical students had interrupted him demanding a search of the castle and grounds.

_No, two,_ he amended. _The Weasley girl remained suspiciously subdued._

It seemed that his least favourite pupil had made a break for freedom, no doubt fuelled by his earlier argument with the headmaster. He might loathe the child, but for the first time in the boy's short life, he had made a statement complete in its pertinence. Harry Potter _must_ be trained, and it appeared that that was what he had left to do.

He sighed, unconsciously touching his left arm. He was not looking forwards to the next meeting before his Lord at all.

---

When consciousness returned to him, the morning sun had risen in the sky, and a slight drop in temperature within the Founder's rooms indicated the return of the Chills.

The sight that greeted his drowsy eyes was that of the high ceiling above him, gentle sunlight shining through, although unlike the hospital wing the rooms remained conspicuously free of dust particles. Gradually, he became aware of the uncomfortable coolness of the floor, as well as the resounding ache throughout his limbs. Groaning slightly, he clenched his hands and curled into himself – a small ball within the elaborate chalk circle still gracing the wooden floor.

Memories were returning, heralding an immense sense of loss within him. Where before there had been the assurance of knowledge, there remained a raw, empty space that left him feeling stripped bare.

Salazar had not limited himself to only rearranging small parts of his mind. Harry remembered snaps of endless passageways where the ghost had twisted those crystal fragments, suspended them, or eliminated them all together. The grace of the man's movements had belied the manipulative nature of his actions. Each time his thoughts had been morphed from one substance to another, Harry had felt the wrong-ness of it as keenly as if it were the first time it had happened.

Groaning, Harry pulled himself into a tighter ball, feeling a lump in his throat rising with horrible pressure. Not even Voldemort's mocking and machinations had left him feeling as betrayed and violated as this. It was one thing to use an agent to betray his trust, but it was another to enter his mind itself and shift parts until they were hardly recognisable as his.

The overwhelming problem was that he wasn't even able to pinpoint what had been changed.

"Come little one, it is not nearly so much a loss as a gift," said a soft voice from beside him, but it was in a less than comforting tone.

"I can hardly think that you…removing my spells is a gift," Harry bit out, bitterness dripping from his words.

"Oh, I disagree. You see," the Founder said, leaning closer, until Harry could see flashes of silver stealing into his vision, "you are being given the chance to access magic that few other wizards of your time have the chance to encounter, and most of that minority do not even make their homes in Britain."

In his head, Harry was working overtime. He had a good idea of what the man was suggesting, but he could still feel that bitter ache where his spells had once been.

"How am I supposed to 'fight back' without any spells?" he growled.

"When the time comes, little one, you will not need spells," Salazar said, eyes for once unreadable.

---

The evening found Harry ensconced in a sofa beside the fire, a mug of hot chocolate in his hands and his eyes distant. It appeared that Salazar had allowed him the day to come to terms with the fact that he could no longer cast the simplest charm.

Unbidden, his mind strayed back to Muggle tales of telepathy and bending spoons, of reclusive martial artists that could break a man's neck with a breath, of mysterious shamans that could heal with their hands and summon forth spirits from the earth, and of the natives of jungles that could converse with creatures from a different plain of reality.

He had searched for his trunk for the better part of the morning, assiduously avoiding the chalked symbols still covering the ground floor, but to no avail. It appeared that wherever it was now, he wouldn't be finding it any time soon. Salazar had told him with a laugh that he would get it back when he performed magic. The afternoon had been spent in numb contemplation.

He knew instinctively that he should feel the impulsiveness that always seemed to get him into trouble and out of it, but it felt as if his mind had been left in the same stasis his spells were. He simply felt unreactive.

Had he made a mistake coming here? It certainly felt like it. Even gaining full control of his magic couldn't make up for the loss of all his spells. His mind recoiled at the thought of having to learn them all again.

"Nothing so drastic little one," Salazar said from the sofa opposite, making Harry jump a little in surprise. He hadn't noticed him appearing there.

"Explain," Harry said dully.

"Harry, Harry, manners decree more than an unrefined demand," Slytherin taunted, a smile on his face. "However, I will indulge you this one time."

Reclining opposite, he threaded his fingers together and regarded Harry with the remnants of his smile still on his face. "Having been haunting the school for a millennia, with a large portion of those years spent awake, I observed the evolution of not only the first Wizarding School, but the society around it. I saw the rise of the Ministry and the middle classes. I saw the introduction of the Statute of Secrecy and the Restriction of Underage Sorcery. I witnessed the evolution of magic and in particular, the evolution of spells."

"A fact that can only be known from the experience of a thousand years is the perversion of spellwork. I can see," he said with a pointed glance at Harry's head, "that you are unaware of the restrictions on spell creation. Each and every one is Ministry approved and altered."

Harry looked up, surprised.

"Were you never curious as to how they achieved their omnipotent appearance in tracking all magic?" Salazar asked tauntingly.

"We're tracked through the _spells_?" Harry asked with horror, ignoring his earlier despair.

"The spells are identified, and the wand catalogues them," Salazar said with distaste. "Each wizard who buys a wand in England has a scroll in the Ministry listing every spell they have performed in their lifetime. Heavily restricted of course - only Unspeakables have access to them, not the Ministry as a whole. And this was introduced so subtly into Wizarding Education that only one who had witnessed the changes since the Founding of the first Wizarding school in Britain would be able to notice."

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again, mind working furiously. Finally, he said hoarsely, unwillingly, "Thank you." Salazar remained watching him impassively.

"Tell me," he said suddenly, "why are the Dark Arts restricted?"

Harry blinked, before considering the question. "Because they are not Ministry approved, and…they must not react to the sensors properly," he said with a sudden burst of understanding. "So then…the spells they classify as Dark Arts nowadays are just the ones that aren't Ministry approved?"

"Very good," Salazar commented. "In truth, the Dark Arts are a very refined and primal sect of magic, not at all like the watered down classifications you may have encountered. They change and evolve as fast as they are catalogued. They are the elusive predators that adapt to each trap set before them. The Dark Arts are only for those who have an understanding of them, and the only masters are those whose natural outlet for magic is in that form."

"An innate understanding," Harry murmured.

"Oh yes, and as coveted and feared as all powers," Salazar said

"Like Parselmouths," Harry finished. Salazar nodded slowly, looking at him appraisingly. There was a long moment of silence between them as Harry considered all he had been told. "All those Dark Wizards…they remove the spells from their wands?" he asked.

"What do you know of wands?" Salazar responded with a question.

"Not much," Harry conceded before pausing with a sudden thought. "But…" he hesitated, "this might be a good time to tell you that my wand is brother to Voldemort's."

Salazar raised his brows in surprise. "Interesting…and so very appropriate," he murmured distantly, before turning back to the topic at hand. "The reason that wands are so complex to make is that the layering of spells upon them is intricate and precise. One spell disrupted, and they remain that way for there is no removal of spells once they have been merged with the core."

"Oh," Harry said with disappointment, "then I suppose I won't be able to do much with mine then."

"It is worth remembering," Salazar said with an inscrutable expression, "that though it is a weakness in the wand, it is also a great strength. However," he said dismissively, "you have yet to ask the most pertinent question."

Harry looked sharply at him, but the man's expression gave nothing away. Hesitantly he asked, "Then…how do I avoid being tracked?"

Salazar's eyes lit up, and he gave a slow clap that was joined by a patronising smile. "Very good little one," he commended, before leaning forwards. "For that, you must understand the basics of Spellwork, and here our first lesson begins."

Over several hours time, Harry learnt more about the creation of spells than he had ever thought he would. Spells were comprised of three separate parts: command, gesture and intent. The command was the word and language it was cast in, as well as the length, the sounds in the words, and the tone. The gesture was equally varied, and involved whether it was the gesture of the hands, the wand or the entire body. Harry was surprised to discover that several spells could only be cast when the user was in a particular stance, and learnt that this was an integral part of Battle Magic.

The final and most important aspect of spell-casting and creation was the intent of the user. Salazar explained that a simple light charm could be changed so as to burn on contact if the user intended it that way. However, Harry was most astonished to understand that if the wizard's will was strong enough, a simple light spell could be made to override it's constraints and allow the magic to become something entirely different.

"There are, of course, remaining limitations. You recall that I spoke to you of opposites?" Salazar probed, before laughing. "Of course you do. I can see quite clearly that you do," he said, tapping his temple and smirking. "A spell may only be pushed into a different medium if firstly, the will is strong enough, and secondly, if the intended effect is of the same properties. For instance, a spell to create light would only be able to be converted to another spell in the same primary category – that of Light spells. A spell designed to create light could not be forced to create darkness."

Students were trained to expect only one result from a spell, thus entrenching in their minds that that was the only possibility. Teachers had to be Ministry approved too – meaning that they were also conditioned to treat mutated spells as mistakes rather than a different method of casting.

Salazar explained that the Ministry had – with a very skilful piece of spellwork – in effect embedded spells within spells. Apparently it was pioneering in the field of Spellwork. In every spell was embedded another smaller one, and when the large spell was cast the smaller one interacted with the spells embedded in the wand itself, passing on a unique imprint to the recognition and tracking spells in the wand, which in turn was decoded and registered on the Ministry scrolls.

"The beauty of the technique is that due to the different steps, there is no way to pinpoint a particular part of it and eliminate it," Salazar said with respect. "No wizard will part with their wand, even if they knew of its less broadcasted properties, and on that same line of reasoning, no wizard will part with their spells."

The standard Latin spells were reasonably old and well used, but the Ministry added the monitoring spells by changing the voice inflections associated with the word, and subtly altered the gesture.

"By conditioning the student's intent, controlling the inflections and gestures, society was tagged," Salazar said, eyes unreadable.

"But they can't track Dark Wizards," Harry pointed out. Salazar smirked.

"Of course not," he said condescendingly. "The very nature of the spells they practice are incompatible with the scrolls, and unmarked. For a period of time they attempted to tag Dark Spells, but they are not only unstable, but they evolve too fast to be efficiently marked. Stable spells however," he said, "must only rarely be updated."

"How," Harry began, frowning, "How do you know all of this?"

"Ah, little one, do not think the worst of me," he said, chuckling. "As much as I admire such a tool, I had no hand in it. There are those, however, that have had an extensive hand in the research." He looked at Harry with a triumphant tint to his expression. "Your current headmaster, for instance."

"What?" Harry exclaimed, head snapping up to meet Salazar's.

"And many before him," the ghost added with satisfaction.

"No…" Harry said, gutted, dull anger rising slowly in his chest. "He wouldn't…they wouldn't…"

"They did," Salazar said, and then his smile broadened. "You may find it entertaining to note that the new variety of spells has a dampening effect on the results due to the amount of energy expended in returning information to your government."

"What?!" Harry snarled, pushing himself to his feet. "They…how could they?" he growled, pacing. "They're using my _own _magic to send information back to a government I _hate_? And Dumbledore…" he trailed off, eyes smouldering with anger, "how _dare_ he?" he hissed.

"Now, now," Salazar chastised, but it was mocking, "you must remember that he is following a solid tradition passed down through headmasters for centuries, allowing them to know exactly what their students are doing in their spare time."

Harry felt like his insides were congealing with anger. All those times when he'd been in danger or fighting for his life, all Dumbledore had had to do was check a bloody _scroll_ and find out where he was or what he was casting.

Fuming, Harry tried to get himself under control before his magic became unruly once more. Forcing himself to unclench his fists, he stopped pacing and stiffly resumed his seat under Salazar's calculating eyes.

"Anger," Salazar said intently, all traces of humour replaced by a hungry, determined look, "despite what you have been told, is one of the most powerful tools at your disposal. It is equal only to the power of righteous love, and to disregard one is to craft your own demise."

Harry felt his rage slowly transforming into grim determination. Turning to Salazar he let his eyes rest on the ghost, and spoke,

"Teach me."

---


	36. Pain, Pleasure and Etiquette

---

**Pain, Pleasure and Etiquette**

---

And teach he did. Meeting Harry's eyes, Salazar allowed himself a small smirk. Things were progressing in new and delightful ways, and a gifted, angry protégé had practically fallen into his hands. Little could be better.

"Stand, little one," he commanded, and with no hesitation Harry rose. "You have much to learn, and still more to perfect. With your knowledge of spells and wandwork suspended, you have the chance of learning magic in its purest form." He paused, eyeing the dark haired youth before him critically. "Create light," he commanded.

"Light?" Harry repeated, thrown off course. Frowning, he swallowed the 'how' on the tip of his tongue and forced himself to look at the problem objectively.

He tried to run over what Mercury had told him of Wandless Magic, but once more encountered the space where his knowledge should be. His face twisted briefly in irritation as he swept through his memories for some hint of how to proceed.

The answer came to him ten minutes later, as he recalled himself attempting a similar problem. The day he was due to meet Sirius and Remus he had sat beside the lake, concentrating on altering a simple…light charm? Hadn't he found some way to change it, if only a little?

_Focus on the lake_, he thought to himself, closing his eyes. _The lake is my magic, and all I need to do is lift a droplet of it out._

"Your magic is of far greater similarity to a chasm that runs from the surface of the lake to midway through the earth, but use whatever visualisations may help you," Salazar replied blandly.

Harry blinked a little, but altered his vision so that the depths of the lake stretched far further than his eyes could follow. He felt a mild trepidation as he thought of what could lurk below the surface, and was remained unpleasantly of the second task, but stopped himself. What was hidden in the deep of his magic was his _own_, and answered to him. He'd be damned if he were going to be afraid.

Raising his hand, he looked at his fingertips, willing them to glow. Not perturbed when nothing happened, he tried to mentally pour more of his magic into the feat.

Nothing.

Biting back his gradually building frustration, he imagined the magical reservoir rushing into the tips of his hands, pouring, cracking, breaking, tumbling from its confines in terrible waves that washed away everything in their path…

"Stop."

Shaking his head, concentration gone, he looked up and met Salazar's eyes. The Founder was regarding him with careful consideration.

"Only a droplet," he chastened, "nothing more is needed."

Nodding, and biting back his irritation, he tried again.

And again.

And again.

Time seemed to have contrived to race forwards whilst pacing out each of his failures, and Harry had yet to create even a glimmer. His brow was lightly beaded with moisture and his hand shook slightly from hours of holding it outstretched, attempting to 'create light'.

"Again," Salazar commanded from his favoured armchair.

"Look," Harry snapped eyes narrowing, "this really isn't working."

Salazar sent him a level gaze. "Do you remember what I told you of anger? You will show a little more control in future."

_Oh, I will, will I?_ Harry snarled in his head, raising his hand and trying to focus on making his fingertips glow. _How the fuck is this helping me? Stupid bastard-_

With a gasp, Harry retracted his hands to clutch at his head. It felt as if a burning was spreading from his forehead and throughout his veins. He could only briefly compare it to the Cruciatus before that was swept from his mind by the overwhelming pain of it. His veins were alight; he was burning with liquid fire from the inside out, lacerating his skin, spreading over his body like millions of tiny needles rushing through his blood, and the driving pulse wasn't coming from his heart but from his head, which reacted like white hot metal being pushed into the soft flesh of his brain…

When the pain stopped, Harry gave an involuntary retch and tried to draw air into his parched lungs. He felt as if his nerve endings had been fried, and for a few moments he found his vision severely lacking. White and black spots danced across his eyes, forcing him to grope around with his hands in search of something to steady him.

It took him awhile to realise that he had collapsed, and even longer to understand that the floor beneath him wasn't of the same material it had been moments ago.

He barely had time to comprehend that fact before he felt a hand grasp his hair, pulling his head back. _Cold. Cold hands._

"Indeed," was the soft reply. He felt he should know the voice, but things had become rather indistinct. One hand gripped his jaw, and he found his eyes meeting a set made of unending blue.

"I am not a ghost in your own mind," he whispered softly. "I told you before, didn't I? I gave you warnings, little one, and you chose to tempt the consequences. Yet again." There was an amused twist to his voice as he said that. "Although there is a lesson in this also, and not the obvious one."

The hands released him, and he slumped bonelessly back onto the floor. Salazar stood, flexing his hands slightly, before reaching up to his face to caress his features and breathe a sigh of satisfaction.

"To be back in the flesh…" he murmured, "if only as an illusion. Ah," he inhaled, "nothing can compare." He looked down at Harry with a chilling smile. "In the realms of the mind, I truly do remain as I always was."

Harry groaned and used trembling hands to lift himself into a sitting position. Wincing, he raised one hand to massage his temples, but a touch sent a spasm of pain across his forehead, so he swiftly dropped his hands back to the floor.

"What…did you do?" he rasped. Salazar chuckled.

"Curious even now," he said with pleasure. "Power is subjective, little one, and in your mind I am free to act as I please. In answer to your question," he paused to look at the boy sprawled before him with a smile, "I overloaded your pain receptors."

Despite himself, Harry led out a bitter laugh. "A ghost put me to my knees, and I'm…" he paused to let out a painful cough, half surprised that he didn't taste blood on his tongue, "and everyone thinks I'm supposed to defeat Voldemort?"

"Experience is your greatest teacher," Salazar said with an unreadable smile, "and you will no doubt draw on this one."

The rocky tunnels seemed to dissolve around them, and Harry found himself in a heap on the floor, curious snake-like eyes watching him from the furniture and the carpet pressed to his face. Shaking slightly still, he pulled himself to his feet and cast a wary glance towards the ghost of Slytherin, who sat in the same position as before Harry had left.

"That was…" he hesitated, biting back the words he had wanted to say, the memory of the punishment too fresh in his mind. "Unpleasant," he croaked.

"What did you learn from it?" Salazar asked, and Harry gave him a strange look.

"Not to insult you," he said with a hoarse laugh, before pausing to consider the question seriously. "That…" he began, "spells aren't the only way to achieve what you want."

Salazar nodded approvingly, before his expression changed to one of slyness. "And now it is time to flip the coin," he said softly.

Harry braced himself another dose of pain, but this time he received an entirely different burning in his veins. A lance of lust went through him, rushing in his blood and pooling in his groin. Moaning, he dropped to the floor again, white light coming over his vision as his body was overcome with desire.

In an odd parody of his last mental excursion, he came to himself slumped on the cold rock floor of the caves. Laughing at the irony of it all, he turned to where Salazar was regarding him with an amused smirk.

"That was a cheap trick," Harry said irritably, but there was a traitorous part of his brain that wished that he could do _that_ particular cheap trick to himself.

"Oh no," Salazar countered, a gleam returning to his eyes. "That is a most useful trick. One of two. Pain and pleasure make and break a man. I have just shown you your two most powerful tools."

Harry felt rather sobered. Beyond that, he was unsure of what to feel at all. On the one hand, he had the possibility of gaining that power over people, yet on the other…

"It doesn't seem right," he said quietly. Salazar laughed.

"No doubt you simply don't want to recreate the effect I just caused on your precious headmaster," he said with a disarming grin. Harry recoiled with a gagging sound.

"That's possibly the most horrible thing I've heard you say yet," he said, but a chuckled escaped his lips nonetheless.

"Indeed," the Founder countered, laughter fading, "but we'll go over the details of torture at a later date."

Grimacing slightly, Harry began to retort, but the scene dissolved once more, and he found himself back on the carpeted floor before the fire. Blinking owlishly at the sudden change, he pulled himself to his feet and awkwardly sat himself back on the sofa. The mixture of pleasure and pain had set his nerves into an unpleasantly sensitive state. Salazar just smirked at him.

"Now," he began, "you have had you brief interlude." He paused and his smirk widened. "Create light."

Harry laughed. He had to.

---

His education seemed to take a sudden and most difficult turn. Harry quickly learnt the consequences of losing his temper, but wasn't able to apply that knowledge in any useful way. He spent the majority of his time with his hands clasped around his aching head or mentally damning the man who had removed his spells. His arms ached from the time he spent holding them out and attempting to make his fingers glow.

And throughout it all, Salazar remained steadfastly and blandly amused.

Many days had passed, or so he guessed since he hadn't exactly been counting, all spent on the sole task mastering wandless magic. With a pang, Harry wondered how his friends were faring, and not for the first time he wondered whether he had made the right decision.

"The time will come, little one," Salazar said softly, walking past him to resume his usual seat.

Salazar didn't act like a normal ghost, Harry reflected. Most of them appeared to prefer to glide about, but Salazar walked and moved as if he were merely a translucent living being. Not once had he let Harry walk through him, and the only times he had seen the Founder moving through things was when he might rise up from the floor or appear out of walls. There were very few signs to show that he was dead at all, despite outward appearances.

His portraits seemed to have vacated themselves, and his painted counterpart rarely remained in the rooms for any length of time anymore. When Harry had asked, Salazar had told him that he was using his resources.

"Spying you mean," Harry said scathingly.

"Among other things," Salazar said secretively. "It might interest you to know that the Headmaster has been besides himself. It is a great weakness talking out loud to familiars where anybody could be listening."

"The old headmasters let your portrait in?" Harry asked, curious. Salazar smiled.

"Of course. Even if they refused, the castle would not deny its creators entry. However, I am able to be persuasive when I wish.

Harry frowned for a moment. "What am I supposed to do about Godric?" he asked quietly.

"For the moment, you will learn to master your magic," Salazar told him with disinterest. "Once you have laid the foundations, you may spend you time searching for him." Standing, Salazar stretched languorously. "For now, however, you will focus on controlling your magic."

_Ah, here it comes,_ Harry thought. How he was learning to hate those instructions.

"Create light."

Biting back his irritation, Harry focused on clearing his mind and drawing upon that reservoir of magic. He imagined a tiny thread of power rising from it and trailing to the tips of his fingers. He imagined the cool of it in his veins as it moved to his hand.

'_Wait_.' Said a soft voice in his head. Surprised, Harry opened his eyes and looked at the man before him, meeting that overpowering gaze. _'Perhaps, you are simply approaching it in the wrong manner,_' the voice suggested thoughtfully. Harry couldn't help but reflect that there was something far more intimate about having a voice appear directly in your mind, and found that in some ways it was a more pleasant way to conduct a conversation.

'_How should I be approaching it?_' he thought.

'_Perhaps…_' Salazar trailed off, watching him with unblinking eyes. Harry felt as if he had been caught like a deer in headlights, and could only watch frozen as the ghost stood, walking leisurely towards him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his hands and Harry felt the familiar chill as they rested insubstantially on his temples.

There was no sudden rush of memories, but Harry felt himself gently fading away, slipping into a very particular one. He was standing on one of the staircases, and he could hear the steady rush and pounding of water against the castle's walls, growing steadily closer with every passing second. There was a moment where he could almost see the air ripple with the invisible currents, before he found himself surrounded with that comforting, dazed cool that had become so achingly familiar.

'_Create light_,' the soft command drifted into his mind as if from a great height, and Harry lifted his hand without protest. He could see that raised thread of magic from the lake moulding with this cocoon of cold, and before his eyes a gentle glow spun from his fingertips.

Sometime later, when Harry had returned to himself, he sat staring at his hands. His fingertips were still lit with threads of light that wound their way along his hand like luminescent blood vessels. In fact, when he turned his digits this way and that, the tiny red capillaries in his skin were lit up as if there was a torch beneath his hand.

It brought a smile to his face as he remembered the discovery of torches. One night he had been handed one and sent out into the Dursley's back garden to clear away the tools that he had forgotten to put back into the shed. He remembered sitting in the dark and pressing the light to his palm in wonder, watching the way it threw his hands into sharp, red edged relief.

Finally tearing his gaze away from his bright fingers, he directed a glance at Salazar, who sat in the opposite chair, watching him.

"I suppose I change them back now then?" Harry asked regretfully. He rather liked the way his hands looked.

Salazar chuckled, and he knew instinctively that the man had been listening to his thoughts. "If you wish to continue, we shall," he offered.

"I do my whole hands then?" Harry asked.

"As you wish," Salazar replied blandly. Harry cocked a brow at him before chuckling.

"I suppose at least I won't have to listen to you saying 'create light' anymore," he said playfully.

"Oh, indeed little one, but you might consider that a thousand years gives one a long time to broaden the vocabulary," Salazar said idly.

"Oh, so it's going to be 'create a sparkle' now is it?" Harry teased.

"I was personally considering 'create incandescence'."

"Oh no," Harry groaned.

"Or possibly 'create radiance' or even 'create refulgence'," Salazar continued seriously.

"Is that even a word?" Harry laughed.

"Ah, I see we will have to work on your own vocabulary along with your manners," Salazar told him, eyes glinting with amusement. Harry made to reply, but Salazar countered him, correctly reading his expression of not-completely-faked horror. "Oh yes, we will indeed be having lessons on etiquette."

"What? Why?" Harry spluttered. Salazar sent him a scrutinising gaze.

"For that precise reason. Not protégé of mine will flounder for words or conduct themselves in a less than brilliant manner," he said lazily. "It is unseemly."

"Oh, I suppose it adds to the whole 'evil demeanour'," said Harry sarcastically.

"The most skilful of evils is one unnoticed," Salazar said, before snapping his fingers. A second later, Winky appeared before him. When she saw the ghost of the Founder, she let out a squeak before bowing and pinching one of her ears in penance. Slytherin ignored it all.

"Bring the little one up dinner and the appropriate cutlery for a relaxed meal," he instructed, before pausing in thought. "And two glasses of Oakbeam Liqueur and lime."

Winky bowed once to Harry, and then did an incredibly low bow to Salazar before popping away. Harry directed an inquiring glance at Salazar, but the man held up his hand.

"Wait until your food arrives. A little celebratory meal, if you will."

Harry regarded his glowing fingertips for several minutes more before the promised dinner appeared on a table that Harry was sure hadn't been present a moment before. Shrugging, he headed over to his seat and made to sit down.

"Ah, ah," Salazar chided, stopping Harry mid-step. "You may consider this your first lesson in Etiquette. It is traditional to remain standing until those of greater recognition are seated. As you mentor, and as the Founder of one of the first wizarding schools, I naturally take my seat first."

Harry raised a brow at him but played along, waiting until Salazar had taken his seat. The food arrayed before him looked delicious after a day of failed attempts at magic, but the set of cutlery before him was unusual.

"Are you sure this is necessary?" he asked, a little daunted. Salazar rested his chin on his hands and regarded him.

"Let us imagine a situation," he said dryly. "The war is in full swing, and a very important neutral family is prepared to consider your entreaty for their help. You are sent a cordial invitation to a formal dinner, where no doubt several other interested families will also attend. You will be expected to bring a dining partner, and several other well versed friends and associates."

He paused, gesturing idly. "Now, let us suggest that you are untrained in formal etiquette. Not only would your companions be inappropriate, but your conversation skills will be lacking, as will your manners. The formalities of eating, order and respect will confound you. Let me assure you – an error such as the one you were about to make would be seen as outrageous and offensive in such a setting."

"I couldn't just wing it then," Harry remarked feebly.

"Let me ask you little one, do you understand the layout of the food on the table in regards to social standing?"

"No," Harry replied quietly.

"And can you recognise the minute gestures of respect or disdain from fellow guests?"

"No," he admitted. "Fine. I see your point. Etiquette it is," Harry conceded with a sigh.

"It is much to your advantage to notice such details," said Salazar. "Besides, from what little I have seen of your memories, your experience with Wizarding food is incredibly limited."

"So it won't all be horrible then," Harry teased.

"It will be quite pleasant," Salazar told him. "We will be improving your grasp of language also."

Harry's head snapped up at him, affronted. "What's wrong with the way I speak?"

Salazar raised on disdainful silvery brow. "You do not enunciate, your sentence structure is often poor, your vocabulary is limited, and such things will inevitably have a negative effect in conversations with those who expect such things from you."

There was a moment of silence between them where Harry worked to bury his scowl before he spoke again. "Why did you order two glasses?"

"Ah," Salazar began, a glimmer of something in his eyes. "One of the few of life's pleasures I am left to enjoy."

The glass exploded.

Harry jerked back in shock, watching the shards shatter and fall as if in slow motion. What surprised him even more was the fact that they really were slowing down, until they hung immobile in mid-air. Before his eyes, Salazar reached out an elegant hand and in one smooth motion snatched something that only he could see.

The glass disappeared, and Harry let out a soft exhalation at the sight before him. Salazar watched him, smirking and holding a silvery replica of the glass that had just been destroyed.

"How…" Harry began, but was silenced by a chuckle from the nearby portrait. The painted counterpart of the man before him winked and disappeared from the frame.

"It is a shame that it is only possible with liquor," Salazar said regretfully. "And of course, it is only a shadow of its former glory," he said with a grin.

Harry chuckled a little, still in awe of the feat of ripping the drink into the ghost world. "So, what's the secret?"

"Trying to pry my successes from me little one?" Salazar asked, but there was a glimmer of humour in his eyes.

"For when I die," Harry deadpanned.

"Ah, then I am honour bound to teach you," said Salazar.

"Slytherins have honour?" Harry asked innocently. The Founder's expression darkened a little.

"Stumble not too far little one," he mocked. "For you question, every substance has a trace of magic in it. Even your 'Muggles', although not enough to utilise consciously and they do not, therefore, produce ghosts. Stone holds far more, having been formed over many years, unlike glass, which is formed in an instant." His smile returned as he remembered something only he could see. "For many years I was forced to order my drinks in stone goblets."

Harry chuckled. "So why only liquor?"

"Magical liquor is distilled with magical components, and the years of its maturing leech magic from the surroundings. When it is destroyed, it is possible to drag the essence of the object into the ghostly realm."

A thought occurred to him, and Harry couldn't help but let out an impulsive laugh. "So you're telling me that Voldemort is really just brewing an intensely strong barrel of alcohol near the castle, and that's what's got everyone in a twist?"

Salazar blinked once before letting out his own delighted laugh. "Oh, how very refreshing it is going to be to teach you," he said, before waving a carefree hand at the food. "Now begin, and I will point out your flaws and explain to you the etiquette of a meal in relaxed company."

As it turned out, even in a relaxed meal there was a great deal of teaching to be done. To begin with, Salazar explained that it was a three-course meal, and showed him how to hold the cutlery. To Harry's great surprise, the cutlery transfigured itself at the end of each course, becoming clean once more.

As he ate, Harry found himself constantly being corrected. He was eating too sloppily, too slowly, too fast, drinking wrong, holding his glass wrong, holding his knife wrong.

"Your posture has become inelegant again," Salazar said idly, from where he was sipping his drink. Grumbling, Harry readjusted from his slouch and into an upright position for the fifth time. Angrily, he deposited his cutlery haphazardly against his plate and reached for the glass, taking a large, defiant swallow.

Before he began to cough and choke.

"Oakbeam Liqueur is not something to drink hastily if one is unused to it," Salazar informed him. "And you cutlery is unpleasantly arranged once more."

Gasping in a lungful of air, Harry could only give him a watery-eyed nod and set about neatening his eating utensils. With a sigh, he wiped his eyes and took another bite of his food, mentally running through the deluge of instructions he had been given.

"It is proper in a formal meal to space the first drink out through until the second course, whereupon you will be served a second to complement the food, and a third with the third course," Salazar told him as Harry finished his desert.

"Well, I'm not going to manage to remember all that," Harry said, overwhelmed by the veritable ton of information.

"Little one, when you leave it will be second nature," said Salazar assured him with a smile.

---


	37. Mental Defences

---

**Mental Defences**

---

The first pleasant evening Harry spent in Salazar's rooms since he'd arrived was passed with a long conversation that ranged over Wizarding mythology and fairytales to complex and arcane magic. If Harry had been impressed by the man's knowledge before, then it paled in comparison to the sheer extent of what he held in his ghostly mind.

Slytherin in life had not been complacent where there was information to acquire, travelling the world and exploring untouched territories inhabited only by the ruins of ancient magical civilisations. But in death…it became clear to Harry that his ghostly form had only facilitated his lust for knowledge, allowing him to roam areas that he had been unable to even imagine.

"There is no true appreciation of life until you die," Salazar told him passionately. "To die, and rise from the grave as something insubstantial, fuelled only by the power of your own mind, that is something that cannot be explained and must be felt to be understood. I rose through the soil, and I saw worms, insects and animals moving to the universal heartbeat of life. There were ghosts among them too, although so elusive that they could hardly be noticed." A small smile had come to his face as he spoke, and his eyes had filled with a strange tangle of emotion.

"I rose, and the I could feel the difference between soil and sky as if through the eye of a creature from another world, and all around me was a multitude of _life_. Of creatures moving and striving and _living._ I saw the world from a perspective you could not even begin to comprehend as you are now," he said, a brief shadow of wonder crossing his face before passing away as subtly as it had arrived.

Growing distant, Harry pondered that he had had epiphanies like that. He could remember the walk down to Hagrid's hut in his first week of school, and the overwhelming feeling of being utterly insignificant against the immensity of the world. He could remember looking at the grass, and wondering how something so small had managed to get such a hold on something as incomprehensibly big as the world. Everything he'd thought he'd understood had been overturned when he was suddenly thrust into the wizarding world, and as a consequence he'd experienced a sudden freshness to his outlook on the world.

Buried in memories, Harry sank back into the sofa. Was that what lay behind Voldemort's plan? To conquer the world, as small as his minions were, until they covered the surface like a billion blades of grass?

How odd it had been to discover that he had a nemesis. He had thought Dudley his enemy when he was a child, but once more the great wide world had taught him otherwise. He had been provided with the ideal and fantastical outpouring for all of his hates and sorrows. All Voldemort's fault, everything.

Though he knew him to be, he still couldn't imagine him as simply a man. His expectations and hatreds had built him into something far larger, and despite seeing him at his worst times, he still found it impossible to separate the residues of Tom Riddle from Lord Voldemort. He doubted that the former even existed anymore. The memory of the dark-haired boy he had met had evolved into something of immense proportions.

"What a nemesis you have created for yourself, little one," Salazar said softly, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"Oh yes," replied Harry dryly. "If it hadn't been for me, he could have carried on thinking himself invincible. I would have died…perhaps even come back as a ghost…" he trailed off frowning. "Can kids do that?"

"In very rare cases," said the Founder, before pausing and looking at Harry with a speculative expression. "Lord Voldemort is not infallible."

Harry laughed bitterly. "I suppose not, but somehow even when he fails, he always ends up winning."

"Ah, little one, I understand your dilemma," said Salazar. "He is the vessel of your hate, and that gives him power over you."

"I've heard it all before," Harry told him glumly. "My hating him makes him powerful, therefore I must get rid of my hate," he recited in a sarcastic, singsong voice.

Salazar let out a burst of dark laughter. "Oh, how confused you are my protégé. He has power, because you lay your own upon his head in wreaths." Harry raised his head and looked at Slytherin curiously. "What did I tell you of anger, little one?"

Harry's face resolved in sudden comprehension as he answered. "That it lends me power."

"And by giving it away…" Salazar trailed off suggestively.

"I make myself weaker," Harry finished. "But that wouldn't make Voldemort any stronger than he already was."

"Not stronger no," Salazar dismissed. "It lends him greater power in his attack."

"Then how?" Harry persisted.

"What do you know of the Mind Arts?" Salazar asked.

"But I-" he said, before cutting himself off. "Oh. So he can use my emotion to fuel his attacks?" The ghost before him inclined his head.

"Any novice of the Mind Arts can read another's emotions, but only a master may take them as his own." Salazar paused before shaking his head. "Enough of this. Continue with your magic," he instructed.

Harry discovered that broadening the area of his skin that the light resided in was not difficult in itself, not now that he had an inkling of how to go about it, and definitely not in comparison to the days of failed efforts he had put into it before. It was a peculiarly comforting feeling – that of his magic trailing lazily through his veins. The blend was of both hot and cold, fluid and solid, electrifying and nullifying. His magic seemed to be made of contradictions, and it ran through him like a balm.

Cancelling the effects was somewhat harder, almost exclusively because he was so unwilling to let go of the sensation. He eventually succumbed when he realised how difficult it would be for him to sleep with softly glowing hands and arms. With a soft goodnight to the ghost of Salazar, he climbed under the covers of one of the transfigured sofas – care of the Founder's portrait.

---

Despite himself, Harry fell into a routine of sorts. It was difficult to keep even a mildly organised timetable, for Salazar seemed determined to dismantle any order Harry imposed on his activities. However, Harry managed to mark out his days by the fall of the light through the enchanted ceiling, and regulate his work with his meals and his sleep as markers.

He woke the next day to the scent of food drifting from the table that seemed to reserve its appearance for mealtimes. Salazar remained strangely absent throughout the meal, but as he finished a small tugging on his mind alerted him to the Founder's presence.

His feet led him to the ground floor until he stood in the middle of the still present chalk circle. A grating sounded to his ears and he swung to eye the wall behind him warily.

And jumped.

A cold had appeared on his shoulder, and it took him a moment to realise that it was silvery, translucent.

"It is time."

"Time for what?" Harry replied, a little worried. "Salazar?"

"Give it no more thought," Salazar said dismissively. "Little protégé, you have begun to progress in your magic." He paused and gestured at the wall he had been eyeing. "Reap the benefits," he said, drifting away.

Harry's eyes remained glued to the wall, where he watched the panelling fade into a silvery white door. Moving warily towards it, he reached out to skim his fingertips across the shimmering wood. It wasn't ornate, but the obligatory snake graced the doorknob. It flicked open it's blank eyes when he touched the surface of the door, and it opened without further protest.

Despite himself, Harry grinned.

There was a small blue sofa that sat in front of a fireplace, and a spacious desk where several books lay, the rest of the small collection on shelves above. Through an open door on the opposite wall, Harry could see his trunk lying at the foot of a bed. There was even an elegant bathroom off to the left.

Still smiling, he closed the door behind him and went to unpack.

---

The book in his hands was a small slim green volume on Animagi. The cover was worn and soft under his fingertips, and the marbled pages smelt of dust and the particular scent that he had come to associate with the Hogwarts library. Harry's eyes remained glazed by the firelight and unmoving, somewhere in the middle of a sentence he had stopped reading over an hour ago. He had managed to make one of his thumbs glow and shed enough light on his reading material – an achievement he was proud of.

It was that little achievement that had made him drop into contemplation, and he realised that he had never really thought of what he wanted to do further than discovering who his remaining family was. He would have all this power, this wandless magic and skill, but what would he do with it?

Everything had been so simple last year, he reflected. He would continue as he had, preventing Voldemort from assuming a physical form, being hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived, and basking in the simple joys of having people who cared about him. The benefit of living the first eleven years of his life with the Dursleys was that he appreciated what little he did have in the world.

Perhaps he had been complacent. He had become used to being cared for, and when Ron had fought with him, he had been thrown into despair. When he had returned, he had been so happy that he hadn't bothered to find out what the next task was. Or just what he was getting himself into. He realised that he hadn't even opened a book to find out what the Tournament actually entailed. Not even when he had been nominated. He had got by on luck, just as he always did.

Snape was right. He was lazy when it came to pulling his own weight. He relied on his instincts to get him away unscathed, and they always did.

Not this time though. He'd realised, perhaps for the first time, how young he was, how inexperienced. Perhaps it had been his belief in the challenges as games that had got him through the trials life had thrown at him, but when he had been tied up in that graveyard, he had realised for the first time what kind of game he was playing. It was a dangerous one, and he was but yet a child in it. He was a lamb compared to Voldemort's wolf.

He still couldn't understand how he had escaped. The older mage had been careless, he supposed. Perhaps he had overestimated him, and made a trap big enough to catch the enemy he thought he would get, letting smaller fry get through the holes.

Voldemort wouldn't make that same mistake again.

But what was he to do about it? He would have the skills to fight when Slytherin was done with him, but what could he do? He was one man in a world of organisations.

The Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore had spoken of it, hadn't he? Harry had looked it up after that, although there weren't many mentions in the history books. The books on the first rise of the Dark Lord had spoken of a mysterious 'Order' that helped in battles, but nothing more than that.

With whatever skills he was going to acquire over his time with Salazar, he might be able to help them…but to what end? Of course, he wanted Voldemort's life to be the end, but what would be the cost? Wouldn't it be better if he just took his friends and left? Or simply left himself? Voldemort had made it clear that Harry was the one he wanted to kill above all else, besides Dumbledore.

He needed a plan. And for that, he needed to talk to his mentor.

---

In his bedroom, Draco laughed bitterly at the morning news. He held the cheap paper with his good hand, scrupulously hiding the other beneath it.

'_Rebel Group Strikes Ministry Home!_

_The anti-Ministry terrorist group strikes the home of Dennis Flitter, leaving the sign of the dreaded Dark Mark above the house. This reporter wonders what the world is coming too when youths will resort to such measures to create panic._

_The attackers were confirmed as young, and none bore the Dark Mark on their arms, says an eyewitness. Once more, this reporter asks the Wizarding World if they know the whereabouts of one Mr Potter, who has mysteriously disappeared at the same time as the rebel attacks have increased._

_One Healer from St. Mungos gave this anonymous statement on the famed Boy-Who-Lived:_

'_The killing of his parents by You-Know-Who has obviously severely upset his mental state. Throughout his years at Hogwarts School of Magic he has headed numerous fantastic stories, each revolving around his parent's killer. He has obviously become obsessed with this idea of a phantom Voldemort, so much so that he is willing to proclaim it to the Wizarding world. Whether he is willing to assume the role of his 'arch nemesis' and start a rebel group to support his claims remains to be seen, but it is a distinct possibility with his history._

For more on Harry Potter's life, see page 5…' 

Draco snorted and let the paper fall into his lap. Any fool who'd met the boy would know that he didn't have a chance in hell of starting any such thing, particularly when his 'arch nemesis' was up and walking around the Wizarding world, reviving his old contacts. But then again, he supposed that it wouldn't really be to plan to reveal that the world's most feared Dark Lord was back. Not yet, anyway.

Draco wasn't stupid, and he knew that the famed Boy-Who-Lived had quite the nascent ability for the Dark Arts. He only prayed that he never learnt how to use it.

"Not bloody likely," he sneered, awkwardly folding the Daily Prophet and setting it to one side. _Not likely at all, with Dumbledore breathing down his neck._ Not for the first time, he reflected that if Potter was only a little less pure and Gryffindor, then he would have been remarkably easy to sway to the other side.

Wincing, he shifted his arm, stealing a morbidly curious glance at it. When they had cut the Soul Metal out of his flesh, he had screamed, painkillers or no. It felt like part of his soul was being ripped away from him.

_Which,_ he thought humourlessly, _was exactly what it was._

---

"You will be mastering simple feats of magic and manipulating them until I am confident that you are ready to branch into different areas," Salazar informed him. "Your first session on Mind Arts will be tomorrow, although advanced areas will need test subjects. Come now," Salazar chastened, seeing Harry's wince, "try to exercise a little sense before your emotions. To improve, you must practice, and to practice, you must experiment.'

"I suppose," said Harry reluctantly. "What happens after I can do basic things?" he asked.

"A whole range of interesting topics will be explored," the ghost said, a glitter of interest showing through his eyes. "But that is in the future."

"How long in the future?" Harry pushed.

Salazar laughed. "That depends entirely on you little one."

From the Founder's satisfied expression, he could see that he was going to get little more from him. Sighing, he drained the last of his coffee and sat back.

'_Your plans will arrange themselves, given time,_' Slytherin's voice whispered within his head, making Harry twitch slightly in surprise.

---

The following day proved to be exceedingly strange for Harry. Upon waking, he found a book on physical training and a set of glowing instructions in the air above. Obeying them, he settled down to read the first chapter, before doing a series of stretches and jogging around the room. He was alarmed to note that he was slightly out of breath, but when he ran through the amount of exercise he had done since arrival, he found the source of his problem. Simply put, standing or laying around trying to 'create light' wasn't conducive to aerobic fitness.

It was after breakfast that things became much stranger.

"Sit."

Harry complied, taking his usual seat on the blue sofa and running his hand over the stitched snakes on it, which let out a hiss that seemed to run on the edge of reality and memory.

Salazar shot him a sly glance, and Harry recoiled, his world fading into blackness. When he opened his eyes once more, he was standing in his mindscape. Behind him he could see the cave-in, and before him the long, branching tunnel stretched into the distance. Faint echoes resounded around the tunnel, and Harry felt a strange yearning in his chest as he listened to them.

"They come from the central cave," Salazar told him from where he was leaning idly against the wall.

"The…" Harry trailed off, frowning. "How do you know?"

"In your unconscious state, I took my time to explore your mind," he said with a calculating glint in his eyes.

"You just took you time to 'stroll around'?" Harry demanded, but Salazar merely waved his accusation aside.

"I looked at very little, but I understand the way in which your mind is set out, and for that, it is time to work on your defences."

Leaving Harry watching after him thoughtfully, Salazar moved past him to reach one hand out to caress the stones that made up the cave-in.

There was something distinctly odd about seeing the Founder in the flesh, as it were. He was tall, taller than Harry, but of a similar build. Salazar, as he was fully-grown, had broader shoulders, but from his slender build Harry estimated that they would have been relatively the same size when the man was younger. Their facial shapes were very different though, the Founder's face broader and more hollowed, whilst Harry was only just getting a decent level of definition in his own. Idly Harry wondered how old he was.

"1072 years old," was the reply, Slytherin not even sparing him a glance as he ran his hands over the stone of one of the walls he had progressed on to.

"When you died, I meant," Harry corrected, a little embarrassed to realise that Salazar had been looking over his thoughts just then.

"When I died…" he trailed off and paused, thoughtful. "When I died, I was 49 years of age."

"Erm…if you don't mind my asking-" Harry began hesitantly.

"You will learn in due time how my demise was contrived."

"Oh," said Harry. "How is it that-"

"I am able to read your thoughts with ease because of my ghostly form," he said with a smirk, with a sweeping gesture. Harry frowned. The man certainly seemed to be taking a delight in cutting him off today.

"It is of course, somewhat facilitated by my existence within your mind at the moment."

Harry's brow creased a little in thought. "Then, what would happen if you were to try and use Leglimency on me now?" he asked, pointing to himself. "Would there be a mind-"

"Within a mind," Salazar finished with an odd smile. "Oh yes. Infinite minds are the beauty of Leglimency. A set of mirrors that face each other and allow a thousand, thousand reflections. Of course, they are only mirrors. Change the master, and you change them all, but change a reflection, and you enter the realms of the subconscious."

"However," he said, turning to Harry, "we are at the moment only examining your defences and mental order."

"Right," replied Harry. "Where do we start?"

They began with Harry's primary and only defence, which was the cave-in. Salazar had told him disparagingly that he had seen other foundations for defences in his mind, but they had been 'removed', as they held no merit. Harry wasn't all too pleased with the idea of him removing some of his mental defences, but he didn't complain. After all, he had a whole lot more experience in what made a good defence than Harry did.

The construction of the defence was a subject of debate, because Harry had no idea of how it was made before he had added the alterations, which seemed peculiar as Salazar had informed him of its strength – 'nothing impressive, but a workable beginning'. When questioning Harry on his incorporation of Parseltongue into the defences, Salazar's eyes took on an appraising, interested gleam.

"You utilised the diverse dialects?" he asked curiously.

"Uh…yeah," Harry said hesitantly. "I read about them in a book on Parseltongue, but it wasn't too detailed, so I just played it by ear."

"Interesting," Salazar mused. "The best form of learning is by experience. From now, I wish you to speak the tongue, _unless I tell you otherwise_," he hissed.

"Oh…all right then," Harry said before wincing. "Guess that wasn't Parsel, huh."

"Indeed not."

Focusing, Harry tried again. "Better?"

"Very much so. It pleases me to hear the tongue spoken once more. It has been a long time since I have had the chance to speak with one of my own," Salazar said, a strange look passing over his face.

They spent a great deal of time discussing tactics for defence, ranging sometimes into battle strategy. Harry immediately suggested the idea of completely airtight armoured defence, but Salazar rejected the theory.

"Do you have the mind of a snake, or not?" he asked disdainfully. "Building a fortress in an open plain is inviting attack."

"Ah," Harry muttered, a little embarrassed for suggesting such an obvious tactic. "Well, I suppose I could build a kind of 'mental trap'."

"Of what form?" Salazar pressed.

"Oh, all forms," Harry continued, thinking back to Dudley's video games. "There are the obvious ones like covered pits, dead ends, hidden nets and wires, ceiling traps, and hexed stones. But I think if I wanted something more hidden, I could add stuff like you find in those Indiana Jones movies. That's a Muggle film…uh...moving pictures that last for a few hours," he explained, spotting Salazar's questioning look and dredging a memory forwards for him to examine.

"But," he continued, "I could do things like darts that come out of walls when you step on the wrong tiles and stuff. Or not," he added quickly, realising how foolish he must sound.

"No, no. It is best to consider all options, and many of them are indeed viable," Salazar reassured him, looking pensive. "May I suggest that you also install several Oubliettes?"

Harry frowned. "They're dungeons with only a trapdoor in the ceiling as the way out, aren't they?"

Salazar nodded thoughtfully. "A useful tool, especially if you wish to examine the minds of those who are invading and discover the reason _why_."

"What about…what about guards or something?" said Harry slowly. "Like a guard dog, or those dragons that guard Gringotts."

"You run a little ahead of yourself. Let us establish physical means before examining the creation of animals," he said.

Salazar set him to begin work on strengthening the cave-in, simply watching and pointing out flaws. For Harry, it seemed to take both an eternity and a few minutes to complete. As well as weaving in several more strains of Parselmagic, he added a kind of mental identity key into it, along with an intensely complex defence that would either forcefully expel the attacker if they were powerful, or capture them in the rocks if they didn't pose so much of a threat. Salazar had explained to him that the weaving of magic into the mental defences was a bonus of being a wizard, but many of the defences were possible without it.

"So the balance between them is the important part then?" Harry asked as he worked. "Because if you lose your magic, then all the magical defences are down, and if you lose your mind, then all your non-magical defences are down?"

Salazar inclined his head slightly. "An intimate construct of both allows for at least one to remain, and to retain some of the structure of the other."

Nodding, Harry stretched and looked around him. "Right, what next?"

---

**Notes: **Sorry for the delay in updates, I've been ill. Next chapter may also be a little late because I'm away for three days. 


	38. History Lessons

---

**History Lessons**

---

Wiping the hair from his face, Harry examined the changes he had wrought to the rocky walls of the tunnels. Once he had completed an adequate defence of the cave-in, Salazar pointed out with a smirk that tunnelling under it was now a far more viable option for an invader.

The walls and floor of the main tunnel around the cave-in contained grains of a dully glinting black crystal. Harry had originally wanted to convert the entire wall to that same crystal, but once more, Salazar had reminded him of its flaws. An entire wall of it would be brittle, and prone to give way if attacked from a particular angle. Mixing the crystals as small black grains into the rock strengthened it, but also allowed Harry to make the rock somewhat fluid. Any attacks would be reflected among the crystals if the rock around it was fluid, simply containing or dissipating it, until Harry decided what to do.

The creation of the crystals had not been easy in any way, but they had been possible. When he had started trying to make the wall both fluid and solid as he had done by accident with the cave-in however, the crystals seemed a whole lot easier.

"We can continue at a different time, little one," Salazar told him from his seat on one of the boulders near the primary defence.

"I suppose," agreed Harry reluctantly, still critically examining his work. A cool hand on his shoulder made him pause and look up.

"It is skilful construction," said Salazar, "but time spent too long in the mind tends to deprive the body."

Harry blinked, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. "I forgot…there isn't really time here is there? So I must have been out for…" he trailed off.

"Long enough for your body to want for nourishment and water," Salazar completed.

"Uh…how do I get out?" Harry asked pensively. Salazar smiled down at him, and his eyes glittered with amusement.

"Through trial and error," he said softly, before stepping out of sight.

Looking at the space where his mentor had stood moments before, Harry snapped his fingers in annoyance. "Damn it," he cursed.

Salazar's disappearance had been somewhat like Apparition, but without the noise, he mused. But then again, the Founder had very few problems when it came to entering and leaving his mind. Pacing thoughtfully, Harry ran over the possibilities.

The first, of course, was that he had to find the exit from his mind, but since Slytherin had disappeared with such ease, there seemed little reason. The second was trying some sort of mental Apparition.

_Not such a bad idea really_, Harry mused, _but probably better for jumping around my mind than getting out._

And the third…perhaps it was simply like waking from a dream? He had managed to wake himself up from several dreams, once he realised that he was dreaming, and the agonisingly slow wrench out of his mind reminded him vividly of his movement from the mind to the present.

_I suppose I could pinch myself_, he thought with a chuckle.

Shrugging, he pinched the skin of his arm – '_It's all just a dream. Time to wake up Harry.'_

---

Blinking blearily, he came to, feeling as if he was being pulled through a strainer, images of his mindscape still clinging to his eyeballs.

The first thing he noticed was that everything ached. His muscles were incredibly sore in the places that he could still feel them, and most disturbing of all was that he really couldn't feel very much. Trying to move his fingers, he was alarmed to find that he wasn't able.

_Okay Harry, don't panic, they're just numb_, he chanted.

With a groan, he pulled himself up from his slumped position and shook himself a little, relieved to feel the first tingles of blood running back into his arms and legs. After several minutes of excruciating sensation, pins-and-needles making him feel somewhere between laughing and crying, he flexed his hands, immensely glad that he was sitting before the fire.

"Very impressive, little one," came a voice from above the fireplace, and Harry looked up to meet the sly smile of the portrait.

Smiling a little, he ran a rueful hand through his hair. "Well, I'm going to have to take more breaks if I end up feeling like this when I get carried away."

Salazar's portrait chuckled and looked at him with a satisfied smirk on his face. "I can remember such an experience myself. Time does not run in the same fashion within the mind," he said.

"Yeah, I can see that," Harry said with a grin. "So how long was I out?"

"To my calculation…" the Founder said, conjuring a clock in the picture frame, "A day and a half."

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

"I suspect that you are hungry," Salazar remarked, waving his hand at the table laid out with food.

When his stomach growled in response and he realised just quite how dry his mouth was, he decided that food probably wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. He was pleased to note that Salazar lingered in his frame during the meal, as his counterpart was as yet no where to be seen.

"So…" Harry began hesitantly, "what have you been up to since I arrived?"

"Many things," said Salazar mysteriously before pointing out, "You are neglecting to speak Parseltongue."

"Oh…sorry," Harry hissed, before continuing. "Tell me," Harry beseeched.

"I have been re-evaluating my place in the castle. Many portraits did not accept my rule, and as many have been added since my days, my little soul-spies are not sufficient."

"Couldn't you just add more snakes?" Harry asked between mouthfuls.

"No," Salazar replied shortly. "I did plan for the eventuality, and bound a surplus of souls to my own, but I have had to spread my resources. One snake is enough to suffice for two portraits beside each other, and I would not call back those in the walls or wood for any matter."

"So there are snakes in the woodwork!" Harry exclaimed, before quieting. "I thought I was just going loopy."

"Hmm," Salazar hummed appraisingly. "Besides that dilemma, the control over the portraits has been functioning well. Dear Helga and my pretty little Ravenclaw have provided quite the challenge. However, I hold power over the paintings that they cannot even begin to contemplate."

Harry frowned. "Why were the painted snakes telling me to stay away from you?"

Salazar's expression darkened. "I believe that they have been…tampered with."

"How is that possible?" Harry asked, surprised.

"I believe that it is to do with their exposure to me. You must understand, of course, that the paintings that contain snakes are so very primitive, and more likely to be affected by the nature of the castle than other occupants. Therefore, their loyalties initially lay with the castle, and the current headmaster."

"Hmm," hummed Harry noncommittally, thinking dark things about the headmaster. Salazar seemed to guess his thoughts.

"You will have your chance for revenge when you return, little one," he murmured, a strange smile on his lips.

"I bloody well hope so," Harry muttered under his breath.

---

The next few days passed in a blur of eating, sleeping and building. Harry had become quite caught up in altering his mind, and although it was difficult and strenuous, he found it very satisfying. Therefore, he insisted on at least completing the primary defences before going on to practice more of his magic. In the times when he was eating, Harry focused on lighting parts of his body up, and with each trial it became easier and easier. Salazar still instructed him in the proper conduct and etiquette for meals, but they spent the majority of their time entrenched in Harry's mind.

It took him an entire day of work and calculations to discover the trick behind making the solid-fluid walls work. Finally, with Salazar's pointers, Harry discovered that the basic theories he had behind the changes were correct, but he had forgotten to factor in the black crystal grains imbedded in the walls, which were either throwing off his attempts or magnifying them.

After many accidents and melted rocks, he succeeded. Soon, several metres of ground around the cave-in were malleable and strong. They acted just like normal rock when he stepped on them, but they were constructed in such a way that he would be able to move through walls when he had finished all of the tunnels, not to mention being able to reflect mental, and to some degree, magical attacks.

Salazar explained to him that curses such as Imperio would be scattered and diffused by the reflective nature of the crystals in the rock if they were cast weakly, and other forms of mind control would be largely ineffective.

The defences and the creation of them were exciting, but Harry found a problem. The repetitive nature of transforming the tunnels in his head was exceedingly tiresome.

Sweeping his hair out of his face, Harry stretched a little before beginning the creation of new black crystal grains. He focused on the process in his head, and watched with satisfaction as the large stone whirled together in his palm. Then, closing his eyes and concentrating, he tapped it, and it fell into dust. Idly marking out a section of wall and ceiling with one hand he blew the dust towards it, observing the way it settled and sunk into the stone. Then, with a sigh, he settled down to the hard part – transforming the rock.

"Salazar?" he called from his kneeling position at the foot of the wall.

"Yes, little one?"

"Why can't I feel the Apprentice Bonds?" he asked. "I read in the books you gave me that I should be able to feel them up here," he said, tapping his head.

"I have temporarily suspended your awareness of them," Salazar told him, examining his pale hands.

"But…why?" Harry asked, nonplussed.

"They are…of a great magnitude than I had expected, and would have disrupted your mental defences were you to experience them consciously."

"Weird," Harry said, running his hands over the section of rock above him. "Why is that? I thought they were meant to build up over time."

"Indeed they are, but they have adapted unexpectedly to my ghostly form. I have no doubts that we are pioneering the bond between student and ghost," he said, a barely perceptible note of amusement in his voice.

Harry laughed. "My friends will certainly be surprised when I tell them. If I tell them," he corrected with a frown.

"It is your choice of course, but I find that the best defence against betrayal is in retaining secrets."

"Yeah, I had to learn that the hard way," Harry said irritably, before adding in his head, _from those people I'm supposed to call 'family'._

"Oh?" came the curious voice from behind him, making Harry curse his slip up.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said shortly, gritting his teeth and focusing on his work.

"Keeping such pretty secrets to yourself?" said Salazar softly, seated at Harry's side with no sign of movement from his last resting place.

"I wouldn't call it pretty, but yes," Harry muttered defiantly.

"So bitter, my little one. I'll give you a choice then: you can tell me, or I will lift it from your head myself," he said with a deceptive gentleness.

"Neither way is very polite," Harry said, stalling. Then he laughed harshly. "How about we do a trade? I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he grimaced.

Salazar chuckled. "Very good Harry, give nothing away without recompense. It would do you well to know more of myself anyway."

"You can go first then," Harry said dully, shifting a little into a standing position to reach the higher areas of rock.

"Very well then, little one." He smiled. "I do not remember my birth name, for tradition prevailed in Obliviating all knowledge of it from my mind, and I took for my own the name Slytherin. I lived in a small village on a small island, known as Lundy. My mother had was the sole inheritor of the ruling mansion, a strange occurrence in those times, and when she married my father he added to our wealth and took control of the lands."

Harry paused from his work to listen to the Founder, noting the unreadable expression.

"My father had come from a warring fraction of the mainland, and whilst he had prestige and power, he was not a learned man. With him he brought his two younger brothers, and his feuds. I was brought forth from my mother's womb as the first and only heir, and from birth displayed a great aptitude for magic, which made him proud, for my mother's line had a history of Squibs."

"I learnt very little in my time there and spent my years with my two younger sisters, who became closer to me than any other mortal in all of my experience. We became as triplets often are, and shared a rare talent for understanding each other in our own language," Salazar said distantly, and a hint of bitter happiness crept on to his countenance. "We three shared the same bed, we dreamt the same dreams, and thought the same thoughts."

Harry pushed back his yearning and slight jealousy as Salazar spoke. He would have given anything to have that in his life.

"At the age of thirteen, a mage appeared on the Isle accompanied by his pupil, Godric," said Salazar with a smile. "He was travelling to show his apprentice the ways of the world, and naturally he stopped at the ruling manor to pay his respects to my father. He was invited to stay for several months, and he did. I found the budding seeds of a rivalry between Godric and myself, and we were forever attempting to best each other. However, Godric had been trained by a mage, and I was simply a gifted young wizard lacking in anything but impulse and unnatural control."

"Upon seeing our fights, and my skill with magic despite my less than adequate education, the mage saw it fit to offer me an Apprenticeship." Salazar chuckled. "Taking my fortune into my hands, I accepted, and tore myself from my sisters' arms with no small amount of pain. Soul bonds of that magnitude create an eternal rift when broken," he said sadly.

"Soul Bonds?" Harry whispered, and Salazar turned to him with a strange look.

"Oh yes, little one. Soul Bonds form between those who are close, and as close as we were it is safe to say that the emotional pain was most terrible."

"I went on my way, and we left the Isle, venturing into warring states. Throughout our trials, my rivalry with Godric evolved, and though still very much present we grew to tolerate each other. A year later, when passing through a town on the Southwest coast, we encountered a young witch named Helga who showed an aptitude for natural magic. She became something of a younger sister to us, and we stowed away our harsher disputes in taking her into our care, for we had both left siblings behind on our journeys."

"It was when we visited the North of the country we encountered problems. Throughout my journeying I had been discreet about my talks with any serpentine friends I met along the way, as even then it was a feared trait. My mother upon finding out that I used to lay in the garden and speak with the adders and grass snakes there made me vow to keep it a secret to the best of my abilities, as I believe she feared for my life. My sisters lacked the ability, but I was able to translate the language for them."

"However, when we reached the cold and mountainous North, we picked up a young girl by the name of Rowena. She was the daughter of a very powerful ruler there, intent on conquering large areas of land, and with many long-standing feuds. She caught me, and she told not only her father, but our mentor, and we were forced to flee. I thank the day that my mentor remained open-minded and only became slightly suspicious of me. Unfortunately, she had already completed the Bonds of Apprenticeship, and it sickened me to feel traces of her in my mind," he spat, eyes flashing.

"Years passed. Rowena and I kept our battles private, and to all fronts acted as we should. Godric and I became firm friends, and Helga remained as our little sister. We four of us made a pact that we would remain together when we left our mentor's tutelage, and we stood by that. However, Godric and I were the first to leave, and I made to return to my family."

Salazar's face darkened, shadows creeping further into it and his eyes blazing. "I discovered, to my horror, that in my absence a rival of my father's had attacked the Isle and taken control of the village, murdering my family and my sisters and burning their home. My father was beheaded, and his skull was taken as a trophy. My mother was given to the warriors, and my sisters, after being handed round the men, were burned."

Harry looked on with shock and sorrow. To suffer such a loss as that…

"I felt an unimaginable pain as the last residues of the Soul Bonds were destroyed, and when I returned to find Godric I was a different man than when I had left. All I held in my mind was the promise of revenge and the name of the man I was to kill." Salazar smiled maliciously. "He died a month after I had found him."

"Who was it?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Now, now, my little one, it is your turn to tell me what you lived through," he reminded him with a faint curl of his lip.

"Right," Harry said slowly, still reeling from what he'd been told. "My parents…my dad was an Auror, and he worked against Voldemort. He'd met my mother in school, and they got married soon after they left. They worked in the Order of the Phoenix to fight him, but at some point it must have got too bad, and they went into hiding under the Fidelius charm in Godric's Hollow. Sirius was their Secret Keeper, but he gave convinced Wormtail to take it from him, and Wormtail betrayed them to Voldemort."

Harry spoke softly as he remembered what he had heard of their deaths from the Dementors. "Voldemort came to their house, and he went to attack my father. My father told my mum to run upstairs with me, and then he was killed. Voldemort told my mother that she needn't die, but she did. She died for me…and I was protected. And because of that, the Killing Curse rebounded, and I got this," he said softly, lifting the dark mop of hair from his forehead to reveal the pale scar.

"I was taken to my Aunt's house by Hagrid, on a flying motorbike," he said, smiling a little at the half-remembered memories that had occasionally haunted his dreams as a child. "I was left on their doorstep with a note," he said, his voice becoming bitter. "For the first eleven years of my life I was called 'boy' or 'freak', and my home was in a cupboard. I didn't even know my own name until my primary school teacher introduced me by it in my primary school. Then when I was eleven, and my 'family' had fled the storm of Hogwart's letters, Hagrid came to get me, and you know the rest," he finished briefly.

"And what, pray, do you plan to do when you are legally allowed to use magic?" Harry looked up, surprised at the steely tone in Salazar's voice, to see him staring over his head, eyes burning furiously.

"Leave them and never return?" Harry said sarcastically. "What am I supposed to be doing?"

Salazar laughed - a dark cold sound. "Exacting your revenge."

---

Harry had returned to his rooms for the evening, and lay stretched out on his bed, contemplating what he had learnt.

The alteration of the mental tunnels had been time consuming, but he had managed to complete a large section that extended from the cave-in to the first branch off of the main tunnel. As he had become familiar with the processes involved in morphing the walls, his speed had picked up, and although it was nowhere near fast, he had certainly cut down the time spent changing each section a great deal.

Salazar's tale bothered him greatly. It had been fascinating and horrifying, but it felt to him as if there were pieces missing that he should be able to spot. There had to be something that had made him loathe Rowena as he did, and he was sure that it happened in that timeframe.

Rubbing his forehead, he felt his heart wrench in empathic sadness. To have lost such companions as his sisters must have been…he couldn't even find the words for it. It would be horrible enough to lose his friends, but to lose someone that he had known so intimately from birth would have made him mad with grief.

But what were the consequences? Salazar wouldn't discover such a thing and not act on it, for the description of his impulsive nature reminded Harry very much of himself. If something of that magnitude occurred to him, he would not lie still. True, he had searched and found the man who had orchestrated the scheme, but what then? Bitterness and rage was not something that was simply appeased and done with.

Harry shivered a little and rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around himself. What had the ghost done in his lifetime?

Revenge. That was what he had called it. What he assumed Harry would carry out on the Dursleys. Sighing, he thought back to all the times he had wished that he could get revenge on those people others called his family. He'd been locked away for years, unloved, uncared for, but always just shy of real hurt. He'd been hit, but they had always made sure that it was never more than acceptable.

_Besides_, he thought angrily, _mental damage is so much harder to pinpoint._

How had he left that house able to love? He hadn't learnt from personal experience by any stretch of the imagination. He'd never been the recipient of love, but oh how he'd yearned to be. To have a family, to have people who respected him, cared for him, _loved_ him.

_How different it could have been_, he thought sadly. At least he had that much in his life. He doubted that the childhood incarnation of Tom Riddle had had even that. Hadn't that faded memory in the Chamber of Secrets told him how similar they were? It was time for him to find out.

_When I leave,_ he promised himself, _when I leave, I will find Dumbledore and learn what happened to him._

Know thy enemy. That was what he would do. Fighting blind didn't give you an edge, it only filled you with fear of what could be. If he knew what his nemesis was really like, then he would finally enter the plains of reality instead of remaining an unknown evil.

It was time to discover.

---

It was a foggy morning when Harry performed his first subconscious piece of magic. He was lying on his back in the middle of the smudged chalk circle on the ground floor, staring up at the long glass roof above. He could see thick reams of water vapour rolling over the top of it, settling on the glass and rolling down. Vaguely he wondered whether it actually reflected the weather outside, or simply reacted to his mood as Rowena's did. It might not even be daylight outside. For all he knew, he could be living on an opposite timeframe to everyone around him.

Sighing, he shifted a little, feeling the emptiness in his stomach but unable to rouse himself enough to move. _I wish Dobby was here_, he mused.

"H-Harry Potter sir!" came a squeak beside him, making him jump and roll into a sitting position.

"Dobby?" he confirmed, eyeing the panic-stricken house elf before him. The little creature was wringing his ears and shaking nervously.

"Master Harry sir! Dobby is sorry to have disturbed you…but…" he trailed off, looking distraught.

"What is it Dobby?" Harry asked in a calming voice.

"Dobby is sorry sir, but…but Dobby is unable to get back sir!"

"What?" Harry said surprised. "But…then how did you get here?"

"Dobby is not knowing sir!" the little house elf cried, wringing his ears all the more furiously, and displacing the woollen hat on his head.

Sighing, Harry picked it up and placed it back on his head, making Dobby bow and the hat fall off again.

"Dobby is sorry sir!" he said, scooping the hat up and pulling at it between his hands.

With a sudden blink of inspiration, Harry stood up. "It's all right Dobby, no problems," he said, trying to pacify the elf. "But would you help me with a little experiment? I think I did a bit of accidental magic to bring you up here, and I want to see if it will work again."

"Oh, Dobby will be most happy to help you, Harry Potter sir!" he chattered, a broad smile coming over his face, instantly reversing his previous worried expression.

"All right," Harry said, thinking, "just stay there for a moment."

Walking over to the opposite side of the room, Harry sat down again, trying to recall if he'd felt anything happening as he'd thought. He'd been lying there, a little uncomfortably, nonetheless fine but for a slight coldness.

_The cold!_ He thought excitedly. Closing his eyes he let his mind drift into the almost familiar hazy state in which he was able to access his magic. _I want Dobby here_, he thought, and opened his eyes again. Dobby was still clutching his hat and looking hopefully at him from the opposite side of the room.

Frowning, he closed his eyes again, letting his mind drift. Perhaps it was really all about how he phrased things? _Fine,_ he thought, _I wish Dobby were here._

"Harry Potter sir!"

He couldn't help but grin. Salazar was going to be pleased.

---


	39. Dark Magic and Bubbles

---

**Dark Magic and Bubbles**

---

Several days later, Harry remembered the necklace he had received from Rowena for Christmas, and mentally reprimanded himself for forgetting about it. All this time spent missing his friends, and it hadn't even occurred to him to look at it!

Since the incident with Dobby, Harry had spread his time equally between his magic and his mind. He had been completely right to think that Salazar would be pleased – the ghostly man was delighted, and insisted on having a celebratory dinner for the occasion, introducing Harry to several Wizarding meals and a new drink. He wasn't doing so badly with his mealtime etiquette either. At least he could use his cutlery now.

Rummaging through his trunk, he let out a sigh of relief as his hand touched the obsidian rock. With a smile he clasped it around his neck, letting his fingers run over the smooth surface for a moment.

"Ginny?" he whispered, clasping it in his hand. A long stretch of silence was his only reply, and Harry's smile faltered.

He had been so quick to assume that she had remembered about it too. _Or,_ said a traitorous little part of his mind, _perhaps she doesn't want to speak to you._ Growling, Harry nearly pulled the necklace off, but something stopped him.

"Well," he whispered, dejected, "at least I have a chance at talking to her."

---

As the pomegranate seeds dropped into the simmering cauldron, Ginny twitched. Carefully, she looked up through the vapours of her potion to find Snape's dark eyes watching her carefully, and quickly avoided his gaze once more.

Rowena had warned her about Leglimency, and from what she knew Harry to have said Snape definitely fell into the category of people to be wary of. Ever since the announcement of Harry's disappearance, he had been watching her carefully. There had been occasions in the Great Hall when she had felt a prickling sensation at the back of her mind, and had turned to find those unfathomable black eyes watching her.

Things had changed since Harry's disappearance, she thought, adding chopped rat's feet to her potion and stirring in a smooth figure of eight. After the first week, everyone had noticed his absence, and with Dumbledore's return, rumours were flying wildly. Some said he had had the headmaster under a Dark curse, and that he had been expelled after lifting it. The Prophet certainly seemed to be backing up those ideas, still dropping outrageous hints that he'd lost his mind and was out there somewhere egging on Merlin knew who.

She knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that when he returned he would not be the same person who had left. He would be able to cast those sorts of curses when he came back.

Hurrying her mind away from where she suspected him to be, she examined her instructions. She stirred once, and chanced a glance at the mercurial Potions Master.

He was still watching her intently.

Blinking, she looked away.

Somehow, the idea that Harry might be able to do Dark magic didn't disturb her as much as it should have. He simply seemed to be built that way. Anybody who really knew him would be able to glimpse his darker side, if only for a moment. She wondered vaguely how Ron and Hermione could have missed it, or if they'd merely deliberately put it out of their minds. Whatever his faults, Harry had been very careful to present a light countenance to the world, and it was pure chance that she'd been around him at times when it had slipped a little.

Of course, she was suitably outraged at the Prophet articles, but for a different reason than they were. His friends were outraged at the idea of him performing the Dark Arts. Ginny was outraged at the suggestion that he was out killing innocents. Dark Arts or not, those were the rumours that were going to ruin him in the eyes of the public.

In the relatively short time she had known him, he had allowed her to see a side of him that was almost perfectly hidden. She thought back fondly to the first night he had stayed at the Burrow. The pale pink of her potion reminded her of the tone of the light that had trickled into the house as they watched the sun rise. They'd had an adventure together that day, venturing into Knockturn Alley as they did. That had been the day the Greys were born. How long ago it seemed now.

With a sigh, she lowered the temperature of the potion and settled back to wait. This was always the part of the lesson that she loathed – this waiting. When she was doing something her mind was occupied, but whilst she was waiting he thoughts were on display.

Snape was still watching her, unblinking.

She would try and talk to Harry later, when she got the chance, because there was no chance now that she would even attempt it.

---

Sprawled on his bed, alternately summoning and returning objects around his room, Harry Potter was bored. He hadn't seen Salazar all morning, and the weight of the crystal around his neck seemed to drag him down rather than alleviate his worries.

What lies were the Daily Prophet spreading about him now? Had he become the new Dark Lord yet? It had barely been what…nearly a month?

With one of the bathroom taps in his hand, Harry paused. Had it really been that long? Had he really been away from his friends, from his lessons, from the Wizarding World in fact, for that long?

He could do wandless magic now, he thought, a little surprised by the revelation. It didn't seem like such a big deal now, but then again, he couldn't even remember the correct way of doing magic since it had been removed from his mind. Every time Salazar mentioned it, the knowledge would just slip away from his brain like so much sand through his hands.

There was also the startling revelation that he had almost no idea of how much magic he had, or how much he could use before becoming fatigued. What he really needed was someone to duel with.

_Perhaps Salazar's portrait would help_, he thought, _I should ask him._

'Harry?' said a soft whisper in his head, causing him to drop the tap and sit bolt upright. Barely able to believe it, he fumbled under his shirt for the necklace until it was clutched in his palm.

"Ginny?" he murmured, heart bursting with hope. There was a long silence and then…

'Oh Harry!'

He was suddenly unable to keep from laughing with relief, unconsciously switching back to English. "I missed you Gin."

'I missed you too,' was the quiet reply. 'How is…how is it all going?'

"I can do wandless magic Gin!" he said, smiling unrestrainedly.

'You can…wandless magic?' her voice turned breathless. 'Wow. I was speaking to Rowena about that, but hardly anyone can do it nowadays.'

"Well, you should pick the Mind Arts class when you get to NEWT level then. Or you could learn it the hard way like I did," he said with a chuckle.

There was a pause. 'The hard way?' she asked hesitantly.

"Salazar removed all of my knowledge of spells and…god dammit! The other thing…" he trailed off frustrated.

There was a pause where Ginny seemed to be thinking. He could almost imagine a frown furrowing her brow. 'A wand?' she suggested, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes, that. But don't expect me to remember it anywhere near in the future."

'Isn't that dangerous?' she asked sceptically.

'I thought so too, but it's not like he's about to throw me in front of Voldemort any day soon," he said, before adding glumly, 'Though I'd probably do better now than when I last faced him."

There was another pause, and then a sound he hadn't realised he had missed until he heard it – Ginny's laugh, tinted with sarcasm and all. 'Well, at least you'll give him a shock,' she said, and Harry could almost see her smile.

'You bet. Next time we duel, and that's if he keeps up his impeccable manners and all, I'll give him a run for his money.'

'Glad to hear it cousin,' she replied.

'So…' Harry began, 'how have you been?'

'Worried about you. And Snape's been watching me like a hawk. You spoke to me first in Potions, and I think he suspects something.'

It felt as if the pit of Harry's stomach had dropped away. 'You need to learn Occlumency,' he said firmly, 'now. He's got too many clues not to guess if he skims your surface thoughts, and he can't know about the Founders.'

'I agree,' said Ginny. 'I've been meaning to ask Rowena. She's not a Master, but…I suppose it's the best I have.'

"Mm," Harry hummed, "Salazar helps me work on it inside my mindscape. I'll have Dobby give you my books on it, and some of my notes. They might help. I…I wish there was a way for me to see you, but Salazar tells me I'm not leaving until I'm adequately trained, and unlike the headmaster when he makes declarations like that, I'm inclined to believe him.' Frowning, he shook his head. 'I promise that when I come back I'll help you as best I can. You and everyone else.'

Ginny laughed. 'It's not nice really, thinking that Snape of all people can pick up your thoughts.'

'No indeed,' Harry agreed. 'But that won't happen for long. At least I can talk to someone other than Salazar now,' he said appreciatively.

'Huh,' Ginny muttered, 'I bet that old fop is great conversation.'

Harry chuckled. 'He's not too bad actually. And he knows a lot.' For a moment he considered telling her of his mentor's new ghostly form, but at the last moment stopped himself. Some secrets were best kept to oneself, for the moment at least.

They talked for a long while about what had been happening in their subsequent lives, resuming a somewhat normal playful banter. However, when Ginny ranged onto the subject of the press, Harry could feel himself becoming furious.

'How fucking dare they suggest I'm out _killing_ people!' he growled, pacing the length of his room. 'One day, I swear on my life, I will sort out each and every one of them. Hell, I may as well take down the Ministry when I'm at it!'

Ginny laughed coldly. 'The rise of Voldemort would be the least of Fudge's worries with you on his tail. I promise you that when it happens I'll be right behind you to watch him fall.'

For a moment Harry was silent, before he paused in the floor and chuckled bitterly. 'They're right on one account though. When I leave here, in Ministry's eyes I'll be a Dark Wizard all the way through.'

'You just make sure you don't get carried away coz,' Ginny said slowly.

Harry grinned. ''Course not,' he said, but the smile in his voice betrayed him. 'Besides, I haven't even started yet.'

'Well, just promise me that you'll teach me some,' she said before laughing. 'I'd just love to see Lucius Malfoy's face when he gets a little retribution for what he did. Bastard.'

'Quite.'

---

A large, dusty tome landed with a thump on the table, making Harry jump and lose his concentration, the pieces of the Wandless game clattering to the ground.

"What?" he asked, looking up.

"Read the first three chapters and show me what you have learnt," said the Founder shortly, before rounding and leaving.

Grumbling, Harry knelt to the floor to pick up the pieces of his game. The Wandless game comprised of puzzle pieces that could only be arranged properly in mid-air. The problem was that some severe magic nullifying spells had been cast on them, forcing the user to manipulate the air around the pieces. Suffice to say that juggling 30 odd non-magical pieces was difficult.

Tipping them back into their wooden box, he turned to the book lying before him. Raising a brow at the title – 'Darke Magiks and Thyre Uses' – he opened it and dutifully began to read.

An hour and a half later, he made his way out of his rooms, snapping his fingers to light small black flames and snuff them out again. Looking up, he spotted Salazar and smiled.

"Your book wasn't very helpful."

Salazar raised a brow. "Indeed? It seems that you have learnt something despite it."

"I suppose," Harry muttered, but there was a smile in his voice despite it. Brightening, his stood taller and raised his hand. "Look."

The flicker of flame that had been appearing and disappearing grew, spitting and hissing, until it became a furious coil that wrapped itself around him. Snapping his fingers again, it became smoke.

"Impressive," said Salazar indulgently, "but an illusion nonetheless."

"You guessed, huh," Harry replied, before frowning a little. "If it's an illusion that burns people, is it still an illusion?"

Chuckling, Salazar glided down to the floor. "Very good little one. But today is not the day to start an argument on reality with you."

With a gesture for him to continue, Harry focused on the idea of a 'dark' force. The book hadn't been helpful in the sense of providing spells to cast, but it had explained a large portion of magical theory behind dark magic. It suggested the use of a focal image, such as the lake that Harry had used previously. Holding the image in place, Harry imaging drawing water from the blackest depths, rising untainted out of the glimmering surface.

Opening his eyes, he could feel the silky sensation of another strain of magic sliding over his bones, running much deeper than the simple buzz he had felt in his veins before. It was far more thrilling, and far more terrifying. He could clearly feel every pore from which the magic could seep, and he knew with sudden clarity that it would not remain still and contained for long.

Deciding to try a new outlet, he flipped his tongue up and blew a small, glistening black bubble out of his mouth.

The result was instantaneous. It felt as if every fibre of magic had picked up the Way Out, and was rushing furiously towards it, blissful, singing through his head and his bones. Unwillingly, Harry choked and coughed, releasing hundreds of tiny bubbles into the air.

"Stop."

The command came to him from a distance, and he shook his head. He didn't want to stop – it was intoxicating, this feeling of affecting the world around him. Blinking, he looked up to see the little black globes rising into air above him.

'_Stop_,' this time the command came from inside his head, giving Harry a jolt. Taking a deep breath, he unwillingly pushed back that wild thread of magic, trying his best to ignore the feeling of loss as it retreated back into the magical reservoir.

Breathing a deep sigh, he turned to Salazar with an apologetic expression. "Sorry."

Slytherin merely smirked. "That was far more impressive than the illusion, my little protégé. However…" he trailed off, eyeing Harry pointedly.

Harry swallowed convulsively. "I…uh, lost control," he finished for him.

Salazar eyed him thoughtfully. "What do you know of berserkers?" he asked.

Harry blinked, but he was beginning to get used to Salazar's sudden conversational changes. "Weren't they Norse warriors? They'd work themselves into a blood frenzy…" he trailed off before adding, "Oh…"

"Wizards of the most primal kind, fierce in battle, able to change themselves into the body of bear. Before entering a battle, they would release their Dark magic just as you did now, and it would cut swathes through the enemy," Salazar said, a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes.

Harry shrugged a little sheepishly. "Guess it's not such a good idea to do that then. Sorry," he repeated.

"On the contrary, it is a good exercise in control, but…" Salazar trailed off, looking a little pained, "I would appreciate that you show a little more restraint. I would be deeply unhappy were my rooms to be damaged."

Harry snorted. "It's not as if I'm about to blow a hole through one of the walls or anything."

"Little one," Salazar said, amused, "at the unrestrained peak of your power you could decimate a significant portion of this castle."

Harry paled. "But…Voldemort…Dumbledore…" he mumbled.

"Do not have the freedom you have," Salazar finished. "Both are undoubtedly proficient at wandless magic, but at the attendance of this school, they were weaned on their wands like babes to a teat," he said contemptuously. "That is not to say that they could not achieve the same feat if they set their minds to it, but it would be from a practical application of knowledge and power. They may well have the same depths of magic as you do, but they lacked your chance to instinctively tap into it."

Harry stood in silence for a moment before beginning to laugh, his voice becoming a little hysterical. "Oh, this is too surreal," he chuckled. "I can't believe it's only just hit me! I'm standing here, apprenticed to the ghost of one of the school Founders, listening to him talk down the supposed greatest wizard and meanest Dark Lord of all time." Shaking his head, he added, "I think one of the Fates has me as their personal pawn.

A glance at Salazar showed that his sneer had resolved itself into a smirk. "Fate has most definitely made you its plaything. One can only expect that your life will become stranger."

Finally managing to still his laughter, Harry looked contemplatively up at the bubbles hanging still in the air like ominous black jellyfish. Sprawling himself on his back, he raised one hand, and thinking back to the Wandless game, he targeted the nearest globe and focused on drawing it nearer to him.

The smoky orb hovered above his nose, and he watched its gently reflecting surface with interest. The room was shadowed faintly on the surface, but there were minuscule hints of shapes that reminded him of the crystals embedded in his mind. The most fascinating thing about it all was that he had absolutely no idea what the bubble _did_.

And it was because of this fact that Harry opened his mouth once more and stretched his tongue out to touch the surface of the bubble.

The result was instantaneous, the bubble shrinking rapidly back into his body, sending tingles of excitement down his spine. Guiding another down to him, he reached out a hand to touch it and a similar thing occurred. Grinning, Harry floated more down and reabsorbed them until only a scant few remained.

Then, he did something very stupid.

Moving the last bubble towards him, he forced it to split into two, and gently moved them to touch his eyeballs.

The world promptly exploded in black light, showering him in glittering fragments of the picture he had previously been watching. Panicking, he raised a hand to claw at his eyes…and _stopped_. He could see a beautiful, white glow running through little threads and coils, and it took him a long moment before he realised they were his _veins_. His veins and his bones, as if he were under some mutated x-ray machine.

With an involuntary gasp he saw his body, a myriad of flickering pulses and lines. Then, almost fearfully, he turned to look down at his own chest, and felt as if his heart had stopped.

It did, in fact, if only for a moment.

Because there it was, a brilliant centre of light that drove the rest of this whiteness around his body, hidden slightly behind his ribs. With a groan, he tore his eyes away and looked around the room, noticing the little flashes of evanescence that caught his eye, until he came upon Salazar…

…and promptly fainted.

---

A comforting cold was enveloping him that seemed to emanate from the darkness itself. He stumbled forwards a little, steadying himself on a familiar smooth stone.

With a sigh, he let himself drop through the cave-in, floating dreamily in the stony ether for a moment, before his hands broke through the surface and out onto the other side. Stepping out, he couldn't help but smile as he caught sight of the slight glittering in the stone around him as it caught that untraceable light.

_Home_. _Nest._ _His._

It was all his. His steps became steadier, and he moved confidently down the darkened, sloping tunnel. In the distance were the steady echoes of water falling from an immense height. He could already imagine the deep pools in which he could swim, diving beneath the surface and coiling his sinewy body to watch the reflections where the water met the air in that ethereal boundary.

Hastening along, he stopped suddenly. There was a noise, a sound of scuttling, of tapping claws and many legs.

Harry whirled in the darkness, and at the same time he felt himself break through the surface of the pool, rivulets of water running over his head.

Something was coming.

---

Gasp. Gasping for breath. He woke, clutching at his throat and pushing himself back against the headboard of his bed. There was something out there. Something close. Something unpleasant invading his home.

"Sa-" he breathed. "S-Salazar. Salazar!"

Choking a little, he backed himself into the corner, pulling the covers up around him. He shouldn't draw attention to himself. It would find him and attack him. Find him and kill him.

Desperately trying to still his ragged breathing and the sound of his heart, he let out a small whimper. This was one of those night terrors, the things that could hear you even if you held your breath. Track you by your scent and the irregular beating of your heart.

With a snap, he remembered. Raising a shaking hand, he focused on the feeling of the cold, focused on his magic.

Nothing happened.

Biting back his panic, he tried again. He needed magic, and there was one that he knew instinctively would come willingly when summoned. He was in a deep lake, looking up from the depths, submerged in darkness.

There was a cold rush that burnt its way up his spine and the world exploded into light. The room was illuminated from every angle, shadows lacerated and removed. He caught a fleeting glimpse of something dark and ominous, but it fled with the shadows.

Harry remained, both arms thrown forwards, a light so bright that it encompassed everything in his vision emitting from his hands. And as he stayed frozen in that position, a mass of cold swept through the castle, gripping student's skin and waking them with yells of pain and shocked, fluttering hearts.

---


	40. Apprentice Bonds

---

**Apprentice Bonds**

---

A hand clasped Harry's face, and he let out a yell. The light from his hands faltered, and then reversed, rushing back into him. Then there were arms encircling him, and Harry felt his fear melting back with his magic.

"It's coming for us," he whispered incoherently. He could still see in his mind's eye the sensations of being in two places at the same time, making his way along the black stone corridor, rising out of the water, both panicked and wild.

"Shh, little one," came the soothing voice, and a hand stroked through his hair.

Harry almost pushed away to protest that something was happening, something was going to die, before coming to his senses. The vagueness of his dream made it clear to him that it was nothing more than that.

"Nightmares…" he mumbled, mind still hazy with sleep.

Blinking, he noticed the silvery arms enfolding him, and in the same way that consciousness had caught up with him, so did logic.

"How…?" he trailed off.

'_Intent, little one, merely intent_,' said a soft voice in his head, and this time Harry didn't twitch. He simply lay his head on the shoulder of the ghost and enjoyed, for the first time in his life, the comfort and reassurance he was getting.

'_Things…'_ he thought stumblingly, '_are_…_too confused.'_

'_Indeed they are, little one.'_

---

When Harry woke up the following day, he was more than a little embarrassed. Merlin…he'd hugged the man. Because he'd had a nightmare. On the other hand though, he still shivered at the feeling of the absolute terror he'd experienced. Shaking his head a little, he tried to banish the memory from his head. He'd deal with it later. One thing he was sure of though, was that the dreams were definitely back, and so were the Chills. The Founder's rooms seemed to dull the effect of the dreams and the cold, but it also allowed his nightmares to return, and he found himself guiltily wishing for the recurring dreams to return so that he would not witness Cedric's death played over in his mind yet another time. Soon, he'd get to the bottom of it. He knew from his talk with Ginny that Hermione still hadn't found anything useful on magical leeching, and was now resorting to ordering books from suppliers or buying them in Hogsmeade.

With a sigh, he dragged his thoughts away from that trail. He could do wandless magic now. Strange, how only a few weeks ago it had been an insurmountable aim, and now he had almost no trouble at all with it. Granted, the results weren't always instantaneous as they had been with…whatever he'd been doing before, but he could already see the length of time it took to summon his magic dropping.

Idly concentrating on the dark depths of his magic, he enjoyed the powerful feeling of having that silken, vibrant sensation running through his bones. Slowly and carefully he blew a medium sized bubble out of his mouth, careful this time not to let his magic run amok.

The black orb hung above him, its surface perfectly still and unruffled by the surroundings. Experimentally, Harry tried changing the colours, first to a deep green, then blue, then pink.

Changing magic that had already left his body was a different feeling than deciding what its outcome would be when casting it, but he managed after a few tries. Spontaneously he changed it to show two colours, and then three, until he had a veritable rainbow above him. With a huff of breath it became a beautiful, pearly white – the polar opposite of its natural inclination.

Concentrating, he blew a long stream of black smoke from his mouth, watching as it coiled around the bubble. Slowly the smoke seemed to merge with the bubble, and it became a cloudy grey, before promptly dropping from the air.

Harry yelped and instinctively brought up a hand to protect his head, but it merely reabsorbed back into his skin on contact with a pleasant sizzle.

Frowning slightly, he blew another bubble, and reached up to touch that one as well, to similar effect. He remembered a similar thing happening the day before.

He'd been quite impressed with the illusion he'd created for Salazar's benefit, and still couldn't figure out how the man had seen through it. One thing he'd become aware of in practising his Light magic was that illusions were almost laughably easy to create.

More than one conversation between himself and the Founder had strayed onto the Dark Arts, and Salazar had explained to him another fundamental division between the Dark and Light Arts. It was not only to do with the stability of the spell, but to do with where the person's innate magic blended from the 'light' stable spells to the 'dark' unstable spells.

"Each wizard," he had said, "has a blurred division between the two. If we use your metaphor of the lake then some, like yours, runs deep into the ground, fading into darkness at great speed. Others will have shallow oceans, and only a sliver of their magic will hold the depths required for Dark magic."

Lying still, he remembered the conversation he had had with the Headmaster after the explosive accident in his fourth year. Hadn't he said that Harry really didn't have the disposition for the Dark Arts? But why deny something that was now so painstakingly obvious?

"Unless he never wanted me to learn them in the first place," he muttered, before calling his magic up again, and blowing another bubble into the air. He didn't know what to think about the headmaster anymore. He didn't want to draw conclusions when the man might have a logical explanation for it all, and he might, but he couldn't help feeling a little betrayed.

Playing at changing the colours once more, his mind strayed back to his last incident with the bubbles. Merlin, it seemed like nothing more than a surrealist dream. He could remember the hazy sensations of looking over his hands and seeing that glowing white light and pulsing through his veins. And he'd turned, and…

Harry paused, staring beyond the cube shaped bubble. He'd looked at Salazar and seen…a negative. Where there should have been routine blackness, there was light that was somehow also darkness, looking like nothing more than a black hole in the fabric of his vision.

Only a brief glimpse but burned into his memory nonetheless.

What did it mean? What did the bubbles do? When they had touched his eyes, what had he been seeing? Something to do with magic, obviously, but what? His brow creasing, he put it into the back of his head for further contemplation, and turned back to the bubbles hovering above his head.

Half an hour later, he was dressed and sitting in front of the fire, nursing a cup of coffee. For some reason he wasn't able to create something out of his magic that didn't simply merge back into his skin when he touched it, and it was frustrating him no end.

'_I am always here to answer your questions_,' said a now familiar voice in his mind, but it made him jump nonetheless. The problem with ghosts was that they didn't make a sound when they were walking.

"Sneaking up on me?" Harry replied.

"You could put it that way," Salazar said with faint smirk.

'_So…about nothing solid I create staying that way near me?'_ Harry thought, and Salazar let out a surprised chuckle. Harry smiled – two could play that game.

'_Several factors. The first, as you know, is the inherent instability of the Dark Arts._'

'_So, I can't make them stay 'real' for very long?'_ Harry asked.

'_In a sense, yes. They are more inclined to revert to their natural shape – unrefined magic._'

Harry nodded. '_So, the other factor…I was thinking that perhaps I'm acting like a magnet or something?_'

'_Close,_' Salazar said approvingly. _'There are reasons why Dark magic must be fastened securely in an object, and why if left for many years when not of good craft, they revert._'

'_You mean that Dark magic attracts Dark magic?_' Harry frowned. It made sense, in an odd way.

'_Again, you are close,'_ Salazar said, sitting opposite, '_but still a little off. Consider this: two identical objects have two different Dark spells on them. The first is a simple, painful trip jinx, and the second is a cutting hex. Over time, when left in close proximity, they fade from their original purposes.'_

'_The magic dissipates? No,' _Harry corrected, _'it changes. So…'_

He trailed off, thinking. Dark magic was attracted to itself, when left together with another Dark item it stopped being so effective over time…they were inclined to revert to their natural shape…

"They neutralise each other?" he asked out loud. "When they're left together, they're attracted to each other, and that catalyses their natural decay to their original unrefined shape."

Salazar nodded, looking pleased. "Very good."

"But how does that apply to me?" he asked.

"Harry, Harry, the pieces are all there."

It didn't take long for him to put it together. "If I'm a big source of unrefined Dark magic, then anything I create will just revert when I touch it?"

Salazar smiled, snake-like. "Uncontrolled as you are, the magic leaks out of your skin, affecting everything around you. You are, indeed, a magnet of sorts for anything you create. Neither do you craft your creations in such a way for them to last. Not to mention that they are inevitably lured towards their creator, as they are essentially made of the same essence."

Harry had a sudden burst of insight. "Is that why most of the Dark Arts are used for attack? Because they are inclined to decay over time?"

"Quite correct," Salazar agreed. "That is the reason that the Dark Arts have a history as the typical offensive magic. It is only when I was nearing my death that they began to be seen as fearful. The times for battles were still upon the country, but violence in the magical world was waning."

"So the Death Eaters have an advantage," Harry said gravely. "A big one."

"Indeed. Not only that, but mastery of the Dark Arts comes entwined with the methods used to achieve greater results from spells. As I have told you before, the use of a spell that combines two similar factors has a greater effect."

'_Example?_' Harry requested.

'_Burning Night, a deeply unstable spell that cloaks the victim in darkness and inflicts the pain of being burnt alive.'_ Salazar smirked a little at Harry's grimace. _'I believe it was concocted as revenge for Muggles who had burnt valued family members in the witch hunts.'_

Harry absorbed this information. _'So Light magic is on the side of warm, stable, and well…light. And Dark is the opposite?_'

'_To once more use your example of the lake: The 'Light' part is the one that absorbs the sunlight and heat. Though its surface is ruffled by the wind, it remains still. Far below however, the sunlight does not reach, and it is a deathly cold. The earth's movements shift the water, and underground caves and channels create strong undercurrents that swirl and disrupt the stillness from above.'_

'_Hmm…poetic,_' Harry said with a grin.

'_I do my best_.'

Several hours and much instruction later, Harry triumphantly held a cube shaped bubble in his hands. Salazar had explained to him both how to repress the magic and keep it from spilling from his skin, and also the tricks behind making a longer lasting creation.

"Hmm…Salazar?" Harry asked, from where he was sitting at the desks of the Experiments room on the second level.

"Yes, little one?"

"Can you teach me how to draw?"

There was a surprised silence, in which Harry looked up from the book he was reading, before Salazar let out a delighted laugh.

"It seems you've discovered one of my true passions," he said with a slight smile.

"I saw the book you gave to Helga," Harry put in. "I want to be able to draw as beautifully as that."

Salazar laughed again, and Harry concluded he must have been very surprised to do so, so frequently in such a small space of time.

"I had forgotten," he said reminiscently. "It held some of my proudest drawings." He chuckled a little. "No doubt she is still unable to read the inscription."

"Actually," Harry said hesitantly, "I translated it for her. She seemed…well…upset but pleased," he added.

"Indeed," he said, voice becoming soft. "Very well. You will begin by striking off two tasks."

A thick stack of paper came floating over from a nearby desk, making Harry blanch slightly. Looking up, he saw the Founder's portrait directing it with his hand, and wondered, not for the first time, whether Salazar was able to summon his painted counterpart non-verbally. Well, they _did_ share the same soul, so he supposed it was possible. It was only the portrait that had access to the castle's magic, after all.

"You will document and sketch each piece of magic you are able to transform, such as that of the bubbles. Include such subcategories as shape, colour, effect and scent."

"I suppose," said Harry dubiously. "But this whole cataloguing thing would be easier if I had a computer."

"A…pardon?" For the first time that Harry had seen, Salazar looked genuinely confused.

"Oh, it's…" he said, before pausing. Just how did you explain what a computer was to someone? "Perhaps it would be easier if you just had a look in my head," he said finally, tapping his temples. "I can't really explain."

There was a long moment of silence, in which Harry felt a very mild tugging in his mind, before Salazar refocused on him looking, if possible, even more perplexed.

"Muggles have truly advanced," he said after some time.

"They have, haven't they? I'll try and pick you up some books on science and things – and of course some stuff on technology," Harry said distractedly.

Salazar shook his head for a moment before concentrating on their previous discussion. "Nevertheless, there are wizarding means of ordering and cataloguing data in a somewhat similar fashion. Sketch, and I can assess your level of skill."

Harry shot him an odd look, but pulled a piece of parchment towards him anyway. It was only once he had it in hand that he realised what was missing.

"Do you have a quill?" he asked.

"Create one – you know how."

A little surprised, Harry turned back to the paper and focused on his magic. From his hand this time poured a thin-nibbed black quill, and as an afterthought he left a thread-like connection between it and his magic.

Smiling, he began to draw with the quill in his hand, and the sensation was like nothing he had felt before. It was as if the magic in his pen had connected to the image in his head, and where his hand strayed from the image, the ink merely spilled into place.

He was left with a rather good drawing.

"Ah, Harry, Harry, you're cheating," Salazar said with a pleased smile, not looking at all disappointed in this 'cheating'.

"And I didn't even know I could do it before now," Harry smirked.

"Experience, little one-" Salazar replied.

"Is the greatest teacher, yes," completed Harry. Shaking his head, he severed the connection between his magic and the quill, and began to draw for real.

Half an hour later, he had sketched out a few pieces and was busily adding notes below them. Despite them not being nearly as good as his first attempt, years of drawing in the margins of his essays had left him with at least some familiarity with art, and whilst he wasn't going to come close to winning any prizes, he could draw more than a few stick figures.

The brilliant thing about magic though, was that you could _animate_ it.

---

The construction of his mental defences had progressed reasonably well, and it was with no surprise that Harry found himself hard at work once more come evening. The day had been spent alternating between cataloguing his finds, and experimenting with his magic. He wasn't able to do anything large at the moment, for it left him feeling inexorably drained, but his mentor assured him the feeling would pass eventually.

Harry had just finished converting a section of the mental wall when Salazar approached him.

"I think it is time," he said.

"The Apprenticeship Bonds?" Harry took a shot in the dark. He had been particularly interested in the effects, and why he would be unable to deal with them with low mental defences, so much so that he had gone back to the books and reread the chapters on the subject.

Salazar turned his back with a smile, walking leisurely down one of the smaller branched tunnels. Harry hurried to catch up with him, darting round the twists and turns until he was walking beside him. They were entering an area of his mind that he hadn't explored properly before, and he made sure that he kept his mind on the twisting route.

After a good deal of walking, Salazar drew to a stop. Ahead, the tunnel branched in two, but one of them held a thrill of chilly recognition. It faded into an endless black void spanned only by a few thin threads, and Harry knew instinctively that if he were to fall he would only recover with great difficulty. He would be lost in the outskirts of his own mind.

"Madness," he whispered.

"Of a kind," Salazar replied casually, and Harry shivered.

"Where's the link?" he said after some time. Salazar chuckled.

"Look around."

Harry gave him a strange look, but his expression remained oddly pleased. He took a step towards the void and peered out, but there wasn't a trace to be seen besides the tiny threads, and he doubted they were the Apprenticeship Bonds. Bemused, he stepped back, looking down the corridor. With a growing sensation of unease, he moved towards the branch in the tunnel. Surely it couldn't be…?

Rounding the bend, he felt as if his stomach had dropped away. The tunnel ahead seemed to fade into a ghostly translucence that rose like a closed glassy bridge across the void. Something about it remained incredibly insubstantial, and Harry didn't even want to consider what might happen to him were he to cross that bridge.

"Admittedly, I didn't expect a causeway," said Salazar wryly.

"But…what…" Harry mumbled, before composing himself. "What does it mean?"

Salazar appeared speculative. "We can safely assume that it is a fairly unique case to be apprenticed to a ghost, especially one that for all intents and purposes retains his magic. The ritual to bind would be impossible otherwise."

"Did you use magic to let you become…tangible? When I was…when I had the nightmare, I mean," Harry clarified, embarrassed, thinking back to the fact that the Founder could touch him rather than just passing straight through as a ghost normally would. Salazar raised a brow at him.

"It is a side-effect of the Bonding," he said shortly, before continuing. "However, that is besides the point."

"Sorry," Harry interjected.

Salazar stared out over the glassy tunnel thoughtfully. "Not only is the case unique, but we both retain abnormally strong reserves of magic. I draw mine from the other half of my soul and the castle. That alone would boost the magical bond, yet I suspect that there is yet another factor."

Harry was hesitant to comment, but seeing as Slytherin could probably already tell what he was thinking… "The books said there was an emotional bond too?"

Salazar turned to look at him with that familiar, calculating glint. "Do you trust me?" he asked, a strange look in his eyes.

Harry opened his mouth to reply before shutting it again, thinking. "I'd say yes, because you inevitably become somewhat trusting of people you spend time with, but on the other hand, you enter my mind so easily that I think trust would be…" he paused, struggling for the right word, "…unwise."

"Yet you must trust that I will not abuse what I find there," he said, before smirking. "I believe you insisted on that clause."

"So I did," Harry agreed. "But, thinking on all that, I'd have to say – no, I don't."

Salazar let out a chuckle, before turning back to the ghostly tunnel. "Very good little one. I think you've learnt that trust is not something to squander, but something that must be earned. No, despite the circumstances, I am resolved that there is another factor affecting the bond. As a ghost I am far more able to penetrate your thoughts, and no doubt it will have effected the bond, but not so profoundly."

Harry frowned. "What then?"

Salazar shook his head. "You have already heard my speculations. As I have said before, this is a unique case."

"Well…" Harry said slowly, "what _should_ it look like?"

"A thread," Salazar replied with an unreadable expression. "A thread spanning the gap that grows to a bridge."

"Not a causeway," Harry said dryly. "Then what are the implications?"

Salazar smiled, and Harry couldn't help but feel that he was inordinately pleased with the development. "Generally it facilitates entering the other's mind, establishes an awareness of the counterparts emotions, and at great strengths, a hint of their intents, but…" he trailed off, eyeing Harry appraisingly.

"What?" he asked warily.

"I wouldn't suggest walking that path, little protégé, unless you are prepared to accept the unpleasant consequences, but I wonder…"

"What?" Harry repeated, increasingly unsettled by the intense stare.

"We have been communicating via my ability to easily interpret your thoughts, but that is an open connection for any Mind Arts master, and in this school I am aware that there are already three."

Harry's eyes widened at the implications. "It could become an untapped connection?"

"We shall see," Salazar said, still looking at him, calculating. "Brace yourself."

Under his watch, Salazar approached one of the walls and picked an elegant silvery crystal out. Carefully, he raised one slender hand above it before giving it a slight tap. He replaced it, and before his eyes the crystal flared into life.

Gasping, Harry collapsed, clutching his head in pain. It felt as if his skull was cracking, everything was crumbling, shattering, splitting. He could feel the corridors around them groaning with the pressure, and a million reflections of his mindscape collapsing in on themselves.

Then, to his dismay, he felt himself losing consciousness.

---

He sat in his father's study, holding a glass of wine with his good hand, a book resting in his lap. He had always admired the air of aristocratic beauty in the place, full of finely carved shelves and the scent of leather and fire. The fireplace itself was not like the others in the house, spelled on command of his mother so as not to allow the lingering tint of burning to permeate the air. Sometimes he wondered whether his father had deliberately avoided the casting in the room, knowing her phobia. It reminded her of a family incident, he knew, the smell of burning. But he didn't know exactly what that incident was.

Draco could only speculate.

It was the small actions such as these that defined his father as a man. He was full of imperceptible alterations – so insubstantial that even when Draco did notice them, he was unsure whether they were actually intentional. Was the slight lingering scent of cloves to make him feel at home, or did he simply have a liking for it because of its eternal, almost intangible presence imbedded in the room? He wasn't sure. Did the clock in here remain mute because he and his father shared a similar disposition towards unruffled silence? He certainly knew that the proud grandfather clock in his father's public study made a dull, languid sound that seemed to put visitors on edge.

The private study held fond memories. It had always been his father's domain – that and the fencing halls. Entry into the room always held a tinge of reward; that it was a privilege to be allowed to intrude on a space so powerfully marked by the man. Over the years that feeling had eased somewhat, replaced by a comfortable respect. He spent evenings conversing with the Malfoy patriarch over a glass of wine, or aiding him with his studies. It had become a tradition over the years to retire to the study for discussion after a bout of fencing.

But he couldn't fence. Not anymore. With his arm in a sling he could barely fly.

He'd spent a long time hating Potter. For as long as he had known him, since that crucial rejection on the first day. It had become full-blown wrath and vengeance with the accident that had left him with Soul Metal in his skin.

But somehow, when they had dropped the other treatments and simply cut it out, his hatred had drained away with the metal. He couldn't feel anything about the boy now – not with this gaping emptiness that had once held all his hatred. Thinking about Potter made him feel like he didn't exist anymore.

"Come Draco, there will be a way to use this to our advantage," Lucius said, from where he sat opposite.

"Of course," he replied, duly smug.

The metal had started to grow back. He could remember the day he had woken to find it filling the gouges in his arms and face. It had looked like hope. Perhaps he'd start _feeling_ something again, other than this terrible numbness. Potter could be taunting him from a foot away, and he wouldn't get angry. Dumbledore could arrive and kill his mother, and he wouldn't shed a tear. There was just _nothing_.

"If the estimations are correct, and there is indeed a link, then it will soon be manipulated to our benefit," Lucius continued smoothly. Draco noted the use of 'our', and wondered exactly what his father meant by that. No, he knew what it meant.

In a spontaneous burst, he asked, "What is it like? Killing?"

Lucius raised one pale brow with an indulgent smile. "Revenge Draco?"

Draco frowned slightly. "Not necessarily," he said. "Is it satisfying?"

"Indeed," came the reply. "May I ask why you are showing a sudden interest?"

"For curiosity's sake, I suppose," Draco drawled out.

Looking up at his father, he fell into thought. _I could kill him now and not feel remorse_, and that unsettled him. Somehow he suspected that his father had different reactions to death. He'd imagined when he was younger that he would get some sadistic pleasure in killing The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die, but now, he'd get nothing, nothing at all. It was almost frustrating, but falling just short of the mark. Nothing that extreme.

Sighing, he closed his book and laid it on the table, where the words 'Soul Bonds: The Unknown' glared up between them.

---

**Notes:** Sorry for the wait in the updates, my cold came back and I've basically been asleep for three days. They should be back on schedule now. Oh, and don't get any ideas from the last section of this chapter. I know a lot of people like H/D but it's not going to end up like that here. I don't generally like Draco much as a character, but I'm attempting to make him a little less wimpy in this story.


	41. Breakfast and Actions

---

**Breakfast and Actions**

---

In the gentle golden light that filtered through the windows of the Great Hall, students were trickling in and settling at the honey-tinted tables. With the approach of true Spring, Hermione wished fervently that Harry could be with them to enjoy it, despite the almost bitter cold that had returned with a vengeance during the night.

Or she had, before she had received the paper.

Hands trembling in suppressed anger, she forced herself to read the front page article again, grimacing at the screaming headlines:

'**Boy-Who-Lived Sighted At Killing!**

_In a devastating attack last night, Tina Fudge, cousin of our own Minister Fudge, and her family were brutally murdered. Following the pattern of the previous rebel attacks, the house was burnt, the occupants cruelly tortured, and the Dark Mark cast above._

_However, there is one fundamental difference between them: Aurors have substantial proof that Harry Potter, more commonly known as the Boy-Who-Lived, was sighted at the crime and appeared to be leading the group. A neighbouring wizard (name undisclosed) happened to be awake, and upon seeing the now infamous Mr Potter, he bravely risked his life in taking valuable photographic evidence and warning our very own Aurors._

_Once they arrived on the scene they were too late to stop the devastating murders, but were able to ascertain that Mr Potter is very much involved in the group, and many gave eye-witness accounts of his apparent leadership of the Death Eater Impersonators._

_Wallace Jugeon, Senior Auror and leader of the mission, made this statement:_

'_We are unable at this time to confirm whether it was indeed Mr Potter, but in light of his recent disappearance from Hogwarts and the obvious mental 'trials' of the previous summer, it seems a distinct possibility. Of course, we are not yet able to rule out an impostor, but from our sources, this seems an increasingly small chance. All citizens are warned to beware of Mr Potter, and alert the Aurors immediately upon sighting him.'_

_The Daily Prophet would like to express their deepest condolences to Minister Fudge, and we wish him the best of luck in finding our Saviour-Turned-Murderer._'

The newspaper continued, giving student accounts on 'Mr. Potter' – 'always very volatile; he'd go from being Mr. Nice Guy to destroying classrooms in an instant' – along with a complete psychological analysis from a qualified Healer, precautions to take upon sighting, and speculations on where he was staying.

Blinking away tears, she barely noticed that Ron had flopped down beside her until he spoke.

"Morning!" he said, before sobering upon seeing her distraught expression. "Hermione? Are you all right there?"

Sniffing, she merely tossed the paper into his lap, and watched as he paled, and then his expression and colouring darkened to one of rage.

"Bastards!" he shouted, startling several people nearby. "They don't know shit about Harry!"

"He's managed to live through things like this before," Hermione said quietly and unconvincingly.

"No," insisted Ron, suddenly calmer and colder. "Nothing like this-" he tapped the newspaper for emphasis, "-this…this is going to ruin him when he comes back. Don't you see? They've got it all set up. With Voldemort _and_ the Ministry against him, he doesn't stand a chance."

Hermione looked at him for a long moment, teetering on the brink of tears, until she fell forwards into Ron's arms with a sob. "I know, I know. But how can we help?"

A little flustered, Ron hugged her, absently patting her head. "We'll have to find a way," he said quietly, eyes determined. "They can't just arrest him on speculations."

With a small gasp, Hermione drew away from him. "But they _can_ Ron! They _have_! Remember Siri – remember Snuffles?"

"Guilty until proven innocent," said a new, dark voice, as Ginny flung herself into the seat next to them. "They've backed him into an almost inescapable corner."

"But we can't do anything," Hermione said despondently.

"You need to prove t-that Y-You-Know-Who is back."

All three of them looked up in surprise to see a very nervous looking Neville sitting opposite them. He looked flustered for a long moment before adding quietly "I believe him."

"He has a point," came an unrecognisable, dry voice, and they turned to find Opa standing, watching them. Turning to Ginny she said, "I need to see you. Find me after dinner."

"That was odd," Hermione murmured, watching her retreating back, shocked out of crying as her mind began to examine things logically.

Ron remained silent, thinking and stabbing his stone cold egg idly with violently hand. In his mind, he could see it laid out. The black pieces and the white pieces had joined sides, and all that was left was a lone pawn.

"He needs to reach the other side," he murmured. Drawing a curious look from Hermione.

"What?"

"Nothing," he deflected turning back to his internal musings. He needed to become a more powerful piece, and that was what he was doing. All he needed now was an army to back him.

"I have a plan."

---

At the same time, in a different part of the country, Sirius Black immolated his newspaper. He watched as the flames licked the sides, reducing it to nothing more than a smouldering pile of ash. He stood abruptly, leaving it as a smoking testament to his views. It was better that way.

"Kreacher!" he yelled, seeing the familiar stooped shape edging across the hall. "Kreacher! Get back here you miserable piece of work!"

The aged house elf moved slowly back into view, obviously clutching something to his chest.

"Oh, wicked master, filthy little blood traitor doesn't deserve to be in his mistress's house-"

"Stop your bloody insults," Sirius commanded curtly. "What are you holding?"

"Kreacher isn't holding anything master," the elf replied innocently, before his face darkened and he continued muttering. "Kreacher must save his dear mistress's treasures from her filthy blood traitor son, oh that he is her flesh and blood, not him, no…"

"Drop it."

"Drop what master? Kreacher is not holding anything," he said, an ugly grimace coming across his face as he moved his arms behind his back.

"I'm ordering you Kreacher, drop whatever you're holding and get back to that moulding bed of yours," Sirius said voice shaking with repressed anger. "Or I swear, I'll give you clothes."

A sly smirk came across his face. "Kreacher is knowing you is not giving him clothes, Kreacher knows too much about his blood traitor friends."

"Then I'll behead you and mount you on the wall!" he yelled, aiming one strong kick at the elf. With a grunt, he released his hands on the object, and a small book fell to the floor.

"Filthy blood traitor master!" Kreacher spat. "Fouling mistress's house with his mudblood friends and his disgusting half-blood pets!" Backing away, the elf headed back down the hall, still eyeing the book and muttering. "Kreacher knows he will pay, Kreacher _knows_…"

Face contorted in anger, Sirius stared after the hunched shape. He didn't notice that anyone else had entered until he felt a hand on his shoulder and spun around to snap.

"Creature troubles?" Remus asked mildly, and Sirius sighed.

"You could say that," he replied, beginning to pace. When he got to the head of the table he slammed his fist down with a growl of anger. "No! It's the whole bloody _world_ that suddenly seems to be conspiring against everything we do! And Harry…" he trailed off. "Now Harry's disappeared and there are these bastards writing their slander-"

"Come on Padfoot, they've been doing this ever since the boy was born. The Order is working-"

"Oh yeah?" Sirius snapped. "And I can really see the results. Just admit it Moony, it's the opposite: the Order _isn't_ working. Nothing we do has had any effect"

"Albus is doing what he can," Remus said neutrally.

"I want to know where he is Moony," Sirius said quietly. "That's our cub out there."

"I know Siri, I know."

---

There were grains of dust beneath his fingertips. He moved them a little, and he could feel the dust moving with them. It meant he was alive. Shifting his hand a little, he winced as he registered something beyond the dust.

Pain.

Everywhere. He couldn't feel most of his body, but what he could _hurt_. There was weight on his back and his legs, and the felt like the bones in them had been crushed. The flesh certainly had been.

Salazar. Where was Salazar?

_I'm here little one. _

He tried to open his mouth, but he could only gasp. The voice. There had been a voice, he knew it.

"Whe...where?" he croaked, dust choking his lungs.

_I'm coming little one. Don't move. _

Harry reflected that he might have found that statement ironic in any other situation. As it was, he was barely able to breathe. Where was he? Why the rocks? What had-

The Bond. Everything had collapsed, everything he had built, everything he had. He could feel dust clogging his nose, but he didn't have the energy to sneeze. Couldn't. Too much pain.

Noise. Rock on rock. Stone on stone.

_Stay alive little one._

More movement, and he can feel the weight on him growing imperceptibly lighter. Could he die? Dead in his own mind…how sad.

He chuckled and regretted it immediately. Bones broken, dust in his lungs. Pain. There was a long wait before something was lifted off his back. Breathing was easier.

_Merlin,_ came the soft breath.

_That bad then?_ he thought.

_Far worse than I expected little one._

He was moved, and he thought he screamed, but he couldn't be sure. All he knew was that he was facing the roof of the cave, or perhaps the floor from a great height.

_The roof._

_Oh. I can't tell. Am I going to die?_

_No._

_Oh. How can I tell I'm not already dead?_

_Do you trust me little one?_

_Sometimes._

_You're not dead._

He was being moved again, but he couldn't feel it. Somebody was above him, but he couldn't remember who. All that was left were those fathomless, deep blue eyes that seemed to be staring into his soul. There was the strangest sensation of being in two, four, eight places at once, the same place, stretching into infinity. But in one of those…one of those the person was doing something different, and he felt the first version of himself blink out like a light. Then the second, and the third and the fourth. Until all that remained was one, and even that was growing faint.

_Sleep, little one._

---

When he awoke, there was pain. Groaning, he moved an arm to bring it up and gingerly touch his face. There were closing cuts there, and he could feel dried blood.

_Awake I see._

"Yeah," he croaked, and he could almost feel the frown coming from the Founder.

_You were only too happy conversing silently when I found you._

_You have a point _, he said wryly. _It hurts too much to speak out loud._

_I imagine that it does _, Salazar remarked. _The effects of the Bond were…dramatic._

_You think?_

_Still, experience is the greatest teacher._

_Ha! And what, pray, is this teaching me?_

_What occurs when you are mortally damaged within your own mind._

That sobered him up.

"Fuck," he whispered. "I'm getting out," he told his mentor, and he felt him nod.

Concentrating, Harry thought of waking, coming to consciousness, _it's just a dream_.

Blinking, he winced at the light coming from the fireplace, which although dim was enough to make his eyes water and burn. With an almighty groan he heaved himself into a sitting position and took stock of his body.

It hurt like hell, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been in his mind. He was unprepared however, for the light cuts and scratches that adorned his arms and body.

"What the hell happened?" he asked. Salazar simply shrugged.

"A natural instinctive reaction that we must work on countering. Since you believe you are hurt, you are hurt. Your magic makes it possible," he added seeing Harry's confusion. "Had you not been wearing the Cloak of Smoke, your clothes would also be ripped."

Harry blinked, but could immediately see the disadvantages of his current state of mind. And talking of states of mind…

It was not long before he had returned to his mind to survey the damage after drinking a very old healing potion. He was shocked. As usual he appeared near the cave-in, and was pleased to see that everywhere he had done his renovations, creating fluid walls, the damage was almost minute. However, as soon as he stepped beyond that, the walls had crumbled and in many cases the tunnels were blocked completely. Mixed into the mess were his crystal memory blocks and he realised with a sinking stomach that all his memories were completely jumbled.

The following week or so were spent almost exclusively in his mind, reversing the damage. Under Salazar's tutelage he 'glued' the rubble back into its original position and continued his previous conversions, adding the powder of black crystals and creating fluid walls that could withstand a shock such as the one he had just received.

At the same time he became far more familiar with the twisting caves of his mindscape, until he could navigate them with ease. Whilst he was working Salazar conversed with him, and they discussed magical theory, myths, potions, history and family.

On the fifth day, Harry came across a familiar enigma. He hadn't encountered it in the mindscape before, but he was well aware of its existence.

He had reached the Barrier.

Upon investigating several tunnels, he found that they all seemed to lead to a central chamber, one that he knew from his hearing as the echoing drops gave it shape in his mind's eye. He also felt with no small amount of frustration that behind this barrier lay the answer to his dreams, the chills, and the cold. Everything that he had worked so hard to retain a hold on, but had inevitably slipped through his fingers lay inside that chamber.

Growling, he turned away from yet another blocked tunnel, when a thought occurred to him. "I don't have any other 'entrances' to my mind do I?"

'_Do you?_' was Salazar's infuriating response.

"I…" he trailed off thinking. '_I'm pretty sure I don't.'_

"You will need to renovate the portion of your mind that leads to the void," Salazar said absently, eyeing the barrier with interest.

"Right," Harry sighed, before noticing Salazar's retreat. "Hey…what are you doing?"

Slytherin paused before turning around briefly. "Finish the alterations, and I will meet you. I have…something to add," he said with a mysterious smile, before stepping through the barrier as if it were water.

Gaping, Harry could do little but stare after him. Then he span around, snapping his fingers in irritation before stalking to the area he had come to recognise as where most of his mental links originated. He'd jokingly named it the Void, and when he assessed the dangers of leaving it open, he could clearly see the problems.

Sighing, he tried to get his mind off Salazar by steadily closing the open space, until it was completely sealed, the threads simply running straight through the wall without any visible impairment. As an afterthought, he added a 'V' on it so that he would recognise it. The branched tunnel containing the ghostly Apprenticeship Bond was a different matter. Frankly, he saw little reason to change it, as from his discussions with Salazar he had ascertained that anybody fool enough to tangle with it probably wouldn't like the eventual consequences.

Instead, he spent a good deal of time lacing a complicated repulsive ward that would react to anyone not attuned to the link. It had been difficult trying to discover the properties of the ghostly causeway, and he had walked as far as he had dared along the path.

'_Good_,' said a voice behind him, making Harry jump, teetering far to close to the edge for his liking.

"I was thinking, what is the Void exit actually for?" Harry said, recovering his surprise and walking back to his mindscape proper.

"Links," Salazar said absently. "Madness, and mental suicide."

Blinking, Harry had a sudden thought. "Could I prevent madness by blocking it?"

Salazar looked at him with an unreadable expression. "Madness comes in many forms little one. Escape is only one route, and whatever you build you can destroy."

Harry thought for a long moment on this before sighing a little. "I know. I know. But even if there was a way to stave it off for a little longer, it might mean the difference between regaining a friend or losing one."

"It could mean the difference between winning a war and losing one," Salazar countered. "Your idea is not without merit, but it has too many flaws to become anything more than an idea. To be trapped with pain and consciousness in your own mind may be worse punishment than stepping into the Void." Salazar paused, a thoughtful look coming across his face. "Alternately, if there are…prisoners who do not submit to the usual methods, I would recommend experimentation."

Harry couldn't help but look at him with a little disgust. Nobody should be able to suggest something so casually.

_Ah, but Harry, war does not allow for disgust or moral precedence. When circumstance demands, you will deliver _, came the soft voice that seemed to come almost from himself. This new method of communication resonated so much closer to home that it seemed to originate from his own mind.

"Salazar," Harry said softly, "where is the soul?"

"There is no 'fixed location'. The core tends to shift about the body, but it does not reside on one level of existence, in a similar sense that I do not." They had by now walked back to the sealed wall that had once led to the Void. Frowning, Harry looked at it.

"Should I add a door?" he asked. "Or would that be like putting up a sign saying 'push me out here'?"

Salazar chuckled. "The latter. Leave a simple letter for now. But come little one, there is one last connection that you must see."

Sending him a curious look, Harry followed as Slytherin headed back down the tunnel and turned off into a low, dark passage. They walked for some time, the corridor becoming progressively smaller as they went, until Harry felt as if he was in some demented version of Alice in Wonderland.

With a final turn Salazar stopped and Harry gasped, jerking back involuntarily. Ahead of them lay a thin, acid green thread that glowed gently before his eyes. It stretched out, a single line of brightness across the Void.

Acid green. Sickly green. Avada Kedavra green.

"Like your eyes."

Harry let out a bitter laugh. "Eyes of death."

He stared for a long time at the pulsing green coil, which was undulating softly from where it had latched onto the rock floor.

"What do I do?" he asked softly.

"That, my little protégé, is a trial only for you to face." Salazar paused, looking out over the black space. "He has your mother's protection now. And your blood grants him privileges, many of which he has yet to discover."

'_How?'_ Harry asked silently.

'_I took the liberty of investigating the link, and as the chances of my destruction are low, I also investigated his mind. He is studying many things. An incredibly intelligent, cunning and thorough man. He could have been a Ravenclaw were it not for his ambition and sly nature._'

'_Sounds like you admire him,'_ Harry thought bitterly.

'_I have respect for his assets, yet there is something mindlessly destructive in him that negates his own work. Were he to eliminate that he would be able to do great things. Great and terrible things.'_

'_For my sake, I hope he doesn't get over that little snag," _Harry said dryly. '_After all, it has kept me alive for all these years.'_

"Quite," Salazar said out loud. "I recommend that for the moment you seal the surrounding area and simply leave a gap for the link to pass through. If you reinforce the surroundings, it will prove more difficult for him to gain access to your mind."

"Gain access?" Harry repeated, surprised. "Fuck," he said, eyeing the green thread. "Couldn't I just cut it?"

Salazar shook his head. "Such things cannot be destroyed. They transcend life and death."

Recoiling, Harry grimaced. "That's a Soul Bond, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Looking at the link again, Harry felt his lip curl with disgust. "Great. Just great. I'm going to be linked to the man even after I'm dead."

A hand rested on his shoulder and he sighed, letting Salazar steer him away.

"Come little one, it is time to leave. We will discuss this in more comfort."

---


	42. Potions and Missions

---

**Potions and Missions**

---

The library was quiet, and the candles scattered around the room threw soft light on the surroundings. Ginny ducked through the familiar hidden entrance between the bookcases and sat down at the table, sending a brief smile to the other occupant.

"Right, what did you want to talk to me about?" she began. Opa leant seriously across the table.

"Your secrets aren't safe," she said. "Snape has been watching you."

"I know," Ginny hummed resignedly.

"You can only keep skirting him for so long though," Opa murmured. "And if you count decades of knowledge of secret keeping, then trust me when I say that you won't be able to keep hiding whatever it is for long."

Ginny opened her mouth and then shut it again. "I'll find a way. And I promise that when Harry gets back, we'll let you in on some of the secrets."

Opa smiled faintly. "I look forwards to it."

---

Relaxing into his normal place on the sofa, stretched languidly across its length, Harry waited for Salazar to begin. The ghost was sitting in his favourite armchair, seemingly trapped in thought. It was strange, he reflected, how a ghost looked when it was illuminated by fire. He'd never had the chance to see the effect before meeting Slytherin.

"The Soul Arts are complex," he began. "You can divide them into two sections – those caused by accidental or spell means, and those caused by a Soul Arts Master. Your scar for instance," he said, indicting it, "is obviously formed by the former. Voldemort is no Soul Master, nor is he like to become one."

"How do you know? He raised Inferi in his last reign didn't he?" Harry countered.

Salazar looked at him disdainfully. "Little one, despite your usual perceptiveness you have failed to pick up the fact that Inferi are animated _corpses_. They hold no soul in them." Blushing, Harry mumbled an apology.

"They were quite popular in my day for menial chores," Salazar said with a chuckle. "Nevertheless, we diverge. Soul Bonds created through accidental magic or spells are the most common occurrence, although as you are sure to understand they are reasonably rare. The effects range from mildly induced friendships and bonds of enemies through to the rather unique Bond you display."

"So the strength of the bond is proportionate to the strength of the spell?" Harry guessed.

"And the strength of the wizard, not to mention other factors such as the qualities of the souls in question," said Salazar.

Nodding, Harry asked, "And the other half?"

"These are induced Bonds and alterations affected by Soul Arts Masters, or Soul Mages."

"There's a difference between them," Harry noted in a half-question.

"Indeed. Masters are those who have some innate talent, and can progress to that level through work. Mages are those with complete affinity with the subject, and have little trouble manipulating a person's soul."

Harry looked thoughtful at this. "I can't say I like the sound of it. There just seems something fundamentally wrong with messing around with another person's soul."

"Ah, little one, you are not approaching it correctly. You are still looking at the matter from a Muggle perspective. It is a person's _essence_, and is subject to change all the time. It is inextricably linked with their mind, and any mental decision has an effect upon it. It is neutral in all respects; it only reflects a person in the same sense that when you press your palm into clay it leaves an imprint. The substance itself does not become your skin, and in the same way, no manipulations can make it 'evil'."

Harry shook his head ruefully, unconsciously running a hand through his hair. "I know, I guess. I suppose it's just difficult to change the habits of a lifetime. I always kind of assumed the soul was something that assured your pass into heaven and all that."

Salazar laughed. "Oh, very amusing. Do you believe in your Muggle gods?"

"Growing up in my family makes it hard to believe there's any higher power," Harry said dryly. "I suppose since magic exists though, I shouldn't completely disregard it. I could always be proven wrong when I die."

"Madness, Muggle madness. You already know my opinions on the witch hunting," Salazar said, shaking his head. "However, yet again we diverge. The Soul Arts are complex and trying to those without great ability, and impossible for those without any ability. It took the better part of a decade to amass my status as a Master, but I have seen Mages control it within a year."

"You-" Harry began suspiciously, but Salazar cut him off.

"Yes, I have a small portion of latent skill. Marginally more than Godric, which evened the gap, even though I am loath to admit that he had greater proficiency in the Mind Arts. Soul Arts when used in conjunction with the Mind Arts can affect far deeper changes than either of the skills apart."

"I can see why you might want to learn them," Harry said thoughtfully, "but…aside from Founding the school, what did you actually do? I mean, you're not going to be able to use skills like that very usefully on students."

Salazar regarded him distantly with those odd, too-vibrant eyes. "Once more, situation demanded that I develop them, although I would undoubtedly have pursued them despite the external motivators. However, Sir Diagon and Duke Knockturn sparked a war. The last great war in magical society for a long time. They could have been considered blood brothers for the majority of their lives, but once the Twin Alleys were constructed, they became blood enemies. Each held a large amount of political sway, and due to their Light and Dark tendencies those with similar magical skill banded together. They saw the rise of the Dark Arts as society's scapegoat. Diagon was a filthy cheat, coming from a low-standing family and working his way into respectability. Felix Knockturne came from a long line of respectable Dark wizards, and I knew him very well."

Salazar's eyes were turning with emotion again in his still face. "He died, didn't he?" Harry asked quietly. Salazar smiled bitterly.

"Died in a duel due to the combined efforts of Diagon and our very own Rowena Ravenclaw," he spat. "And true to the saying, the winners do indeed write the history books. I believe that Diagon had a hand in establishing the seeds of the Ministry," he added with contempt.

Harry stared at him, mind tumbling in confusion. He couldn't imagine the gentle woman he had met taking part in violence or killing someone. He even remembered her speaking of the man with something akin to fondness in her voice.

'_Oh yes, she is kind. Her mind is as sharp as a spelled blade, and she is truly brilliant with knowledge, but she holds several unpleasant personality flaws_,' came Salazar's sneering voice in his head. '_She is fiery and forceful, but blind to concepts beyond 'good' and 'evil'. No matter what wisdom she displays it is overshadowed in her categorising._'

Harry looked at the Founder with a certain degree of morbid curiosity. He had never heard the degree of hate and bitterness enter his voice before, even if his retelling of his past had been tinged by it.

'_Indeed, little protégé. She fuels bitterness and hate. Gentle with a steel core. In seeing that I was aiding my dear friend, she chose a side based not on judgement as she would like to profess, but on her personal spite towards me._'

"But why?" Harry burst out. "Why do you hate each other? Don't tell me it's just because she told people that you were a parselmouth, because I know it can't be that."

Salazar's expression darkened, and in a sudden resolution all emotion seemed to drain from his face. "No, it runs deeper. But that, little one, is a tale for a different time," he said in a final tone. With a sigh, Harry bit back his questions. He would wait, and he would eventually find out.

---

Wiping one trembling hand through her fop of hair, Hestia Jones held her breath and bit her lip. She could feel her heart pounding from the exertion, and was suddenly struck with a burst of gratitude for the meagre shelter the alley provided.

She'd been lucky this time – too lucky. It would have aroused her suspicion, but for the moment she was overcome with relief. She hadn't been made for overwhelming attacks, but she managed as best she could.

The Apparition point wasn't too far now. Tightening the grip on her wand, she cast another shield and edged towards the gap between the buildings. Picking up what threads of courage she still had, she made a blind dash towards the isolated concrete yard she knew to be only moments away.

There was a flash of red to her left, and she had to twist to the side as the pavement in front of her exploded, showering her calves in pieces of jagged rock.

Just a little further.

She zigzagged across another road, ducked a stream of violet light, and entered the point.

Spinning on one foot, the last thing she saw before disappearing was the grinning face of Harry Potter.

---

Ron frowned at the small group in front of him. They had needed a strategy, and he had given them one. It was simple, but he knew from experience that the simplest plans were often the best.

"I'm not sure how many people are going to believe us," Hermione said quietly.

"Well, when you produce a better one we'll hear it," replied Ginny cuttingly.

Hermione looked like she wanted to say something else, but remained silent under Ginny's gaze.

"People always believe the newspapers," Luna said dreamily. "We get a lot of people writing letters to the Quibbler with sightings."

One glare from Ginny silenced any protest waiting to burst out of Hermione at the strange girl's comments. After another long stretch of silence, it seemed that the bushy-haired Gryffindor couldn't hold herself back.

Biting her lip, she looked around the familiar array of faces. "The problem is really that even we don't know where he is. If he won't tell his best friends, then other people aren't going to assume the best."

"Perhaps you simply aren't his 'best friends' anymore," Opa put in blandly, making Hermione flinch. Still, she swallowed and went on.

"That isn't the point," she said softly. "Most of the people here don't even know him, and when he came from the third task with…with Cedric and he was talking about Vol…You-Know-Who, they're going to assume the worst. The papers aren't doing much to stop that either."

"'Course not. That's the angle they're bloody going for," Ron put in grimly. "But, however much you don't like it Hermione, this is all we have."

"Start listing potential candidates then," ordered Opa, earning her a slightly dirty look from Ron. Meeting her again certainly hadn't improved his impression of the Slytherin.

"Cho Chang likes Harry," Luna said. "She's always talking about him. He looks at her a lot in Quidditch."

"Right, Cho Chang," Ginny said, scribbling it down on a piece of parchment. Then, looking pensive she added the word 'Chester'.

"Who's 'Chester'?" Hermione asked with a frown. Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but Luna glided in.

"He's a boy in my house," she said distantly. "He has hair like Helios."

Blinking at her, Ginny shook her head before providing a more helpful description. "He's in Harry's Mind Arts class, and they know each other a little, but we met in Dreamwood over Christmas. I spoke to him once since then, but I didn't get a chance again."

"Zabini," Opa put in.

Ron frowned. "Why? I know they're neutral and all, but that won't make them want to support Harry."

"She likes him," Opa said with a smile, parroting Luna's previous words.

"I suppose Padma might," Hermione said slowly, before looking at Ron and cringing a little. "But I'm not so sure about Parvati." Ron made a face, and she continued. "In fact, I think Padma is probably a better bet all together. Parvati is a little…"

"Shallow," Ginny and Opa finished.

"It does seem that Ron ended up with the nicer one," Luna said, squinting at him and making him squirm. "You should tell Hermione, you know."

"Tell me what?" Hermione asked, looking bemused. Ron's face went a beet red.

"Neville," Ginny said out loud, adding it to the list.

"Dean and Seamus might," Ron said doubtfully. "Although Seamus's mother kept giving him warnings about Harry, especially at the beginning of the year. He probably won't go for it," he added glumly.

"We'll need a name," Hermione put in.

Ron thought for a moment before shouting, "Resistance Against Treacherous Snakes!"

"RATS…" Luna said thoughtfully. "Didn't you have a pet rat Ron?"

The redhead looked at her, unnerved, before mumbling, "Perhaps it's not the best suggestion. The Lions?"

"They're all going to be from different houses Ron," Ginny pointed out before thinking. "We could just call it the Resistance," she offered.

"If you want everyone to know what you're resisting," said Opa bluntly.

"How about Potter's Army? PA for short," Hermione said.

Ginny just snorted. "Kind of cliché. Besides, we're not an army for him."

"Enlightened Hippogriffs," Luna said, and Ron had to hide his own snort under a polite cough.

"Look, this is getting us nowhere," Hermione said decisively. "We don't need a name when we could be thinking of more people."

"We don't have a Hufflepuff," Opa pointed out.

"Silvia Henbane is nice. She returned one of my books once," said Luna, twirling her turnip earrings idly with one hand.

Whilst the others looked doubtful, Opa seemed considerate. "Another neutral. And another relative to the Malfoy's, the Zabinis and my family."

"Another one?" Ron asked. "How many relatives of yours _go_ to this school?"

Opa levelled a cool gaze at him. "Technically you would at some point be considered my relative." Ron winced at the unspoken '_and therefore Malfoy's_'

"Right, right. We know all purebloods are interrelated, but more about this girl," said Ginny dismissively.

"She's in your year," continued Opa. "A lesser family, and not in such good stead."

Hermione frowned. "Why not?"

"She's in Hufflepuff," stated Opa as if this were reason enough. "And she's a half blood."

"There's nothing wrong with half bloods," Hermione said irritably.

"You would say that," said Opa passionlessly.

Hermione looked as if she were about to say something, but a slight rolling of her eyes from Ginny made her bite back her retort. With a light scratching of her quill, Ginny added the house names and years to the list.

"Right, time to see who thinks he's innocent."

---

With a sigh of relief, she finally let go of her fear. Casting the charm to wipe the magical traces from her Apparition, Hestia looked around her.

It had been a long time since she had come here, and the woods had subtly changed. The trees had grown, as had the other flora surrounding them. In the distance she could see the remnants of what had once been a tree house.

_Torn down in the storm, probably_, she mused, feeling a little sad.

With one last glance over her shoulder she scurried through the foliage, careful to move the plants aside with her hands. No need to set off magical signals without reason, and at the moment she didn't have a reason. She followed the faint mark of a dirt track, now overgrown with grasses.

Finally the trees seemed to clear a little, and ahead she could see the little cottage where she had spent her late childhood. They had moved there around twenty years ago from their last house after her father had made a loss in business, but she had grown to love it.

However, that wasn't the reason she was here today.

Pushing aside the last bush she entered the clearing and smiled at the delapidated old place. Ivy had crept through one of the windows, breaking the glass. It seemed that the unbreakable charms they had put on them had lost their power.

Walking confidently up to the door, she grasped the handle and found herself thrown suddenly and forcefully back. Shocked, she allowed a brief moment of panic before cursing herself and withdrawing her wand. She shouldn't freeze like that when in all likelihood the new 'owners' of the house would be finding her in a moment's notice.

Swearing, she got to her feet and blinked out of sight.

---

Dobby had proven sometimes helpful in the time Harry had known him, but at the moment his help was invaluable. Dicing the rat's guts, Harry peered at the cauldron before him. He had finally managed to pry a book out of one of Salazar's shelves, and in it he had found a number of useful potions.

Remembering his dilemma at finding himself wounded after the collapse of his mindscape, Harry had promptly decided that learning to brew several varieties of healing potions wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Because of this, he found himself working in the elegant laboratory on the second level of Salazar's rooms. Beside him were two gently simmering cauldrons, and he was adding the finishing touches to a third. He had decided to make a relatively large batch of the simplest one for future use, but as they became more complex the cauldrons became significantly smaller.

The one he was currently working on would only provide around twenty doses, but it was the one he was most keen on getting right, because it was able to heal deep wounds and prevent long-term nerve damage if used quickly enough. He was under no delusions that at some point not too far in the future he would need to know how to brew them.

The noticeable lack of a certain ill-tempered Potions professor seemed to be in a positive correlation with the quality of his potions. Rowena had set down the basics easily enough over the Christmas holidays, and had even progressed onto more complex theories, so Harry did not have such difficulties with the subject as he used to. He wasn't going to be brewing Veritaserum any time soon, but he would get by.

Adding the final ingredient, Harry lowered the flames below the cauldron to allow it to simmer. Whilst he was waiting, he summoned a piece of parchment from the nearby stack and, creating a quill, he sat and began to write. There were many potions that he planned to make during his time in the rooms, and he wanted to make sure that he could not only make many of them off by heart, but that he had a reasonable stock for when he returned to the outside world.

Finishing the list, he read it over and wracked his brains to see if he had missed anything out.

'_Potions List_

_Minor Healing Potion (cuts, bruises)_

_Medium Healing Potion (deep cuts, lacerations)_

_Maximo Healing Potion (deep wounds, minimises nerve damage)_

_Polyjuice._

_Pepper-Up_

_Dreamless Sleep._

_Burn Salves (minor, major)._

_General Anti-Poison Potion._

_Blood Replenishing Potion._

_Draught of Peace._

_Sleeping Potions (various)._

_Draught of Insanity (trial)._

_Calming Draughts._

_Relaxants._

_Helldancer Elixir (trial)._

There were naturally many more that he wanted to experiment with, now that he had started to look at the results, not merely the teacher, but these were the ones that were plaguing his mind.

As an afterthought he scribbled '_poisons (?)_' at the bottom of the list. The book he had removed from the shelf had been mostly associated with less than pleasant potions, but he could admit to himself that at some point in the future he might regret not having brewed a suitable poison. Besides, he doubted that Salazar would easily grant him access to his own prestigious supply.

The book, entitled 'Potente Potions And Thyre Magiks', had gone over a great deal of interesting brews, and although Harry wasn't particularly keen on melting his target's internal organs, it was an enlightening read. The two potions from it that were on the list were the Draught of Insanity that sent the drinker slowly mad, and the Helldancer Elixir, which was said to induce an unquenchable bloodlust, until it wore off or the user was doused in salt water. The reason Harry was interested was in the footnotes, which indicated that the potion mixed well with certain spells, and through them the caster could indicate the person's enemies.

'_Morbid curiosity?_'

"You could say that," Harry replied without looking round, checking on his potions once more. "What have you been doing?"

Salazar chuckled and came into his line of sight. "A little of this, a little of that. Salazar required my help."

Blinking, it took Harry some moments to realise that the Founder was referring to his own portrait by name. Merlin that was confusing.

With a glance at the potions brewing, Salazar nodded approvingly. "I am glad you are brewing. Your knowledge is broadening, but you must still cover more. We will spend time on your transfigurations and spell design, but I foresee little trial for you. Your offensive and defensive magic however…"

Harry frowned, feeling a wave of consideration coming off the ghost. "What is it?"

Pacing slowly, Salazar peered into the cauldrons thoughtfully. "You show a natural aptitude for the Dark Arts, and I am able to instruct you a great deal, but there comes a time when I am limited. The school, restricted as it is to Light magic in the more recent years, has not allowed me to evolve with the changes in the Dark Arts." Raising his head to fix Harry with a piercing stare he said, "For that, you will need an instructor who is well versed in the Arts of this time."

Swallowing a little, Harry leant back in his chair. Finding someone to teach him the Dark Arts was going to be exceedingly difficult. Not only were the majority of Masters trying to kill him, but even if they weren't before, the recent newspaper articles would assure him an unpleasant greeting.

'Harry?'

Jumping at the voice appearing in his head, Harry missed Salazar's sudden narrowed eyes. Fumbling for the stone that hung around his neck he also missed his subsequent surprise.

"Ginny? This isn't such a good time," Harry said. "How about I speak to you later. It's just that I'm in the middle of brewing three potions."

'I suppose,' came her hesitant reply. 'The news is quite…_important_ though.'

"I promise I won't be long," he replied, before putting the necklace back beneath his shirt.

_A gift?_ Asked a far more familiar voice in his head.

_Christmas. Rowena gave them to us,_ Harry returned, before pausing. _They were yours, weren't they?_

"Yes," the Founder replied abruptly, face unreadable. "She helped me with the spellwork."

"Is it...I mean…" Harry trailed off.

"No, no, little one, they are yours to keep. A gift is freely given," said Salazar. "There are, however, several additional capabilities that I took the opportunity to add."

Walking over to Harry, he held out his hand. "If I may?" Nodding, Harry removed the necklace and handed it to Salazar. Surprisingly, it didn't drop through his hands as he had assumed it might. The Founder had obviously been listening in on his thoughts, for he turned to him with a raised brow "And what are poltergeists, little one?" he said with a raised brow.

Shaking his head, Harry smiled slightly. It seemed that logic was not treating him well today. Peeves was merely a raucous ghost, and _he_ could touch things.

"Ghosts cannot as a general rule touch living things. The Apprentice Bond between us enables that," Salazar put in, holding the rough obsidian pendant up to his eyes. "You, unfortunately, do not have the master version, though no matter, as I will instruct you on changing it. I am sure that Rowena suspected that I modified my own, and I can see that she added minor modifications to hers. However, they are not overly complex as she showed little proficiency in Stone Fastening."

Turning his eyes towards Harry he added, "When you have progressed to a reasonable level with your study of Potions, we will begin lessons on Cauldron Gems, and if you wish, I will instruct you on the simple methods of Spell Fastening."

"I'd like that," Harry replied. There were a lot of possibilities for using the skills, especially in tracking devices.

Turning back to the stone, Salazar moved it back and forth in the light. "She has added a dormant proximity charm…" he trailed off, holding it still and staring at intently. After a long moment, he smirked. "It is keyed to respond to body temperature. If you are cold, then the warning of the twin necklace approaching is heat, and if you are hot, then the warning becomes steadily cooler. Interesting…and it appears to be command triggered."

"Are there spells to find out what the command is?" Harry asked, watching Salazar with fascination.

"Undoubtedly. I applied a mental version of her spell to mine, but this will suffice." He then dropped into silence and inspected at it for several minutes before laughing outright. "Oh, how attentive she was. Poison," he said, twirling the rock once more. "She has included a powerful warning against my favourite poisons."

Watching, Harry asked, "Which ones?"

Salazar returned his attention to him and a secretive smile crossed his face. "Nebula Invostrata, which causes several rather delightful mental effects, a simple infusion of Deadly Nightshade, and of course, Basilisk venom. However," he said, returning his attention to the stone, "I believe she was unable to identify the latter, as it is of almost mythical rarity even in the magical world."

"Well, anything to warn me about poisons is good," Harry said, before smirking up at the ghost. "I guess she didn't trust you then."

Smirking, Salazar returned the necklace. "Not in the slightest. With good reason, I might add."

Harry regarded him thoughtfully. "Then why were you in a relationship with each other?"

Smiling strangely, Salazar assumed a seat opposite. "Because we loathed each other. Now," he said abruptly, "we must discuss the dilemma of your future Dark Arts instructor."

---


	43. Planning a Future

---

**Planning a Future**

---

The seat he sat in was a rich leather armchair, warm colours like the rest of the room. Taking another sip of wine, he frowned out over the darkening of the grounds.

"Weasley, you said?"

Turning back to the main room, he met Sebastian's gaze and his brow furrowed ever further. "Yes. The youngest one."

With a nod of acknowledgement, the man took a seat opposite. "I'm surprised you haven't had a look into her head yet," he noted.

Severus's face transformed into a contemptuous sneer, but it was aimed to a greater extend at himself. "The girl knows, and she makes sure she never meets my eyes for any measure of time."

"Have the class take a test," Sebastian suggested. Severus shook his head.

"I did," he said. "She contrived to find a seat out of my line of view. When I assigned seats she managed to smash one of the corrosive brews I reserve for removal of those pitiful attempts they call potions and get sent to the hospital."

Sebastian raised a brow in surprise. "Really? She sounds like quite the wily one."

Massaging his temples with one hand, Severus replied. "Two of her brothers shared the same characteristics. They now run a _joke shop_," he sneered.

"Ah. Yes I have seen the place. Quite ingenious inventions, wouldn't you say? They must have had to have been rather proficient in potions," Sebastian added seriously, but there was an amused spark in his eyes.

"I am not in the mood for your teasing," Severus said wearily. "But yes, sadly they showed an aptitude for the subject."

Sebastian let a small smile cross his face at that, but relented and turned his mind to the previous subject. "You wish me to try my hand with this girl then?"

"Don't be moronic Mercury. I am as an accomplished Leglimens as you are. Besides, I do not wish to arouse suspicion by assigning her a detention with a teacher she has barely heard of," Severus dismissed.

"I do tend to be rather reclusive," Sebastian said with a broadening smile before sobering. "This is unlike you Severus. Granted, gaining Potter's whereabouts would be beneficial, but you have never been overly concerned with the boy before."

This time it was Severus who raised his brow. "I haven't? You seem to have contracted the same memory loss that plagues our 'little celebrity' each time I save his life."

"You are evading, my friend," Sebastian said, eyes glinting with amusement.

"It was something that Potter brat said…_thought_," he corrected, "when I was talking to him of the irresponsibility of arriving at the Ritual."

"Are you sure you weren't just fishing for points?" Sebastian asked with a smirk.

"Of course I was," Severus scoffed. "No one saw fit to remove them from the child when he intervened, and you know as well as I what he could have done, especially as we now know he has a connection with the Chills."

"How long do you think the outer wards will last?" Sebastian asked, looking pensively across the darkening sky.

"Another week, at most," Severus spat. "But with Potter gone we have even less of a chance of keeping them."

Sebastian sighed. "I know," he said, and paused, looking at Severus thoughtfully. "What did he think?"

"What?"

"Potter. You said he was thinking something that interested you. What was it?" he repeated.

He paused, swirling the liquid in his glass. "As you know, I have made it a study of mine to collect what remains of Slytherin's work, as have many others," Severus said slowly.

"Ah, like those pickled snakes," Sebastian put in, humour in his eyes. "I myself could never see the appeal."

Severus shot him an irritated look. "Undoubtedly you wouldn't. However, when he entered my office he immediately moved to examine that very same artefact. Merlin knows I wish I could move the thing elsewhere, but it seems to be stuck," he put in with a shake of his head. "He looked at it as if he knew it."

Sebastian's eyebrows rose. "He recognised it?"

"Indeed. He proceeded to stare at it and was apparently oblivious to all noise around him. However, when I finally gained his attention and was speaking to him he gained that glazed look that I am so painstakingly familiar with."

"You poked around inside his head," Sebastian said dryly.

"He was thinking of Slytherin."

"Perhaps he was simply musing over the artefact?" the older man suggested.

"He was comparing me to him," Severus insisted. "In the present tense. As if he had _met_ the man. Preposterous I know, but if there were the slightest chance that there was an illusory memory of him, or a portrait, or any manner of item left that the revolting brat might have stumbled upon…"

This time Sebastian really did look surprised. "Did you look further?" he asked.

Severus winced a little. "I made the mistake of asking him to repeat it out loud. I was caught off guard," he added defensively.

"No doubt," Sebastian repeated thoughtfully.

"I pressed him for information, but he avoided my eyes, and then…" he trailed off, eyes becoming distant. "Then those pickled snakes that you are so disdainful of smashed."

"Smashed?" Sebastian repeated.

"That is what I said," snapped Severus. "Not only did it break from a sticking charm so strong that Dumbledore couldn't remove it, but it broke at a strategic point in my interrogation, and the boy saw his chance to flee."

Sebastian regarded the Potions Master thoughtfully. "And you do not think it is coincidence."

"It isn't," Severus insisted. "Though I am loath to inform Albus."

"Indeed. He'll pat you on the head and send you away with a Muggle sweet," Sebastian smirked. Severus scowled.

"Of course. And a mind loaded with half-truths."

There was a stretch of silence, and then both men broke into chuckles at the old man's disposition. The Potions Master stood and walked over to the nearby cabinet, refilling his glass.

"I know the little redhead has something to do with it. I've watched her, and I have on occasion managed to catch her thoughts. She knows where he is," he repeated.

"Can you be so sure?" Sebastian asked sceptically.

"Yes," Severus persisted.

"It looks as if you will be informing Albus after all then," Sebastian commented. Severus scowled.

"No doubt he will want to know where his golden boy is." Downing the rest of his drink, he set the glass on the table in front of him. "I will speak to him tomorrow."

---

"It's not going to be easy, you know," Harry said reservedly from his seat. "There aren't exactly many Dark Arts Masters who don't want to kill me."

Salazar chuckled; waving away the elf that was bowing after it had brought the food up. "I am sure you will discover someone. Someone close to you, in fact."

Harry looked at him in confusion for a long moment before his face resolved itself into disbelief and disgust. "Don't tell me you mean Snape. You _can't_ mean Snape."

"If you can overcome your mutual dislike long enough to speak with him, then it will be beneficial to you. From my investigations and from your recounting of him, he is not unskilled. Think on it," he suggested.

"But I hate him. He hates me," Harry insisted. "He does his best to make my life a living hell."

Salazar looked amused at his denials, redirecting his attention to the portrait where his counterpart was smirking. "That is true. Salazar, perhaps you can elaborate on your discoveries," he said graciously, and the painted man laughed.

"I happened to overhear a very interesting conversation just now," he said. "It seems that I left too many clues when I prevented the Potions Master from sifting through your mind. He wants to find your little redheaded friend and discover your whereabouts. I believe that Dumbledore will be informed tomorrow."

Harry groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I need to warn her."

It didn't take long to re-establish the connection with Ginny, and he promptly explained the problem.

'Fuck,' she murmured. 'I don't stand a chance against Dumbledore, even if I have started with the Occlumency books you gave me.'

"Hide," Harry said decisively. "I don't know about you, but I don't think Dumbledore is going to do anything good if he knows about the Founders."

'Well, he _is_ the one that hid them in the first place.' She sighed. 'It's not like I've been spending much time outside Rowena's rooms anyway.'

"I'm sorry coz," Harry apologised. "I just can't think of a better idea, and I'll bet anything they'll be calling on you tomorrow."

'No, it's fine. I'll only be gone until I've built up some defences. But Harry, there hasn't been…good news recently.'

Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach at her tone of voice. "What is it?" he asked neutrally. However, when she read the article to him he could hardly stay neutral for long. He spent several moments calming the anger in his head to a point where he could respond.

"Well, returning to the Wizarding world is not going to be as easy as I thought it would be," he said in a clipped voice.

'Harry,' she said firmly, 'we'll find a way to get those bastards back.'

"Yeah," Harry agreed half-heartedly. It suddenly felt as if all the fight had gone out of him. How was he supposed to win against such overwhelming odds? He bade a brief goodbye to her, and sank back into his chair.

"Do not despair little one. There are methods of appearing to be not who you are. At the very least, there is Polyjuice," Salazar murmured.

Harry let out a harsh laugh devoid of humour. "I'm still going to be arrested if they see my real face though."

"In the grand scheme of things it remains inconsequential."

"Ha," Harry snorted.

"What is a face, little one, if all those important to you know who is beneath it?" Harry remained disbelieving, but Salazar continued. "What of Metamorphmagi? They change their skins daily with little consequence. What of your godfather?" Salazar pressed, and Harry's head snapped up. He stared for a long moment before breaking into a crooked smile.

"I'm allowed a little self pity you know. Sneaky bastard," he added. The man had been plying all his weaknesses, and at the same time reminding him of his strengths, which Harry recognised. It didn't stop it from working though.

Taking a little time to think, Harry walked back up to the Potions laboratory, navigating the peculiar walkways with practised ease. He had come close to having some nasty falls in his stay here, but it seemed that the portrait had installed some failsafe or other that simply left him hanging from his foot in the air until either half of the Founders discovered him.

After a brief moment of indecision he chose a reasonably small ladle and began to decant the first healing potion. In the potions storeroom he had found a seemingly endless range of bottles, vials, spheres and other containers. Pouring the still steaming pink potion calmed him, and there was a repetitive industrial feeling to the task that gave him time to think.

First of all, Voldemort was after him. He knew that much. Secondly, he was going to get no help from the rest of the world, because they didn't know Voldemort was back and thought that he had been murdering people instead. Grimacing, he focused on the task at hand. The very thought of it made him feel vaguely ill. How could he murder someone in cold blood when he had seen it done before his eyes not so long ago? He realised with a sinking feeling that he'd been relying on his 'Saviour' image to keep him from harm for too long, and it was finally coming back to bite him. He may be the 'saviour of the wizarding world', but that didn't stop people from targeting him, it only made it more probable.

Not only that, but he had absolutely no idea of how to prove his innocence. He couldn't very well tell them that he had been apprenticed to the ghost of Salazar Slytherin and therefore not around when the attacks were going on, because it sounded mad to his own ears and he was living the tale. Of course, thanks to Snape, he was familiar with Veritaserum, but he didn't place much faith in the justice of the Ministry, considering Sirius' predicament. Besides, he doubted that any of the Founders, let alone Salazar, would be happy if he informed the whole world that they had sets of rooms that hadn't been disturbed for a thousand years. They'd become a national treasure; everyone would want to poke around, and every curse-breaker in the land would be at the doors of Hogwarts clamouring to be the one to finally find them.

That meant that he was going to have to become extremely proficient in stealth and disguise to survive until he could clear his name. It also meant that he would have to find spells that wouldn't be seen through by such phenomenon as Moody's magical eye. Harry wasn't sure where the real Moody stood, but if anyone else used such things then he was going to be in trouble. He already knew that it could see through invisibility cloaks, walls, illusions and all manner of other devices. Briefly he wondered whether it was possible to apply such charms to his eyes, and filed that idea away for future reference.

Thirdly, he was going to need some plan of action. He couldn't stay in Hogwarts until his name was cleared, for obvious reasons, and that meant that he was going to need to find somewhere safe. He briefly considered the hideout of the remaining Marauders, but promptly disregarded that. He knew from his talks with his godfather that the Order of the Phoenix met there, and he still didn't know whether or not they thought him innocent. A horrible twinge went through him at the thought of Sirius and Remus disbelieving him, but he pushed it away. He could deal with that later.

"Where to hide…" he murmured, leaving the potions to cool and moving on to the next batch.

But he didn't want to hide. He couldn't stay locked up and safe from the world forever. In fact, the isolation was beginning to grate a little on his nerves. He didn't miss his friends as much as he missed the greater depth of experience he had when he was steeped in the outside. Trapped in Salazar's rooms he only had a remote connection to what was happening, and that connection was about to go into hiding too. Salazar's portrait could report some of the goings on, but even he couldn't catch everything.

What he needed was a place that was isolated and he could conduct his work in safety, but was still connected to the outside world. As much as he liked Salazar's rooms, what he really wanted was a place he could call home.

Home.

Something he had wanted all his life. He believed he had found it in Hogwarts, but the privacy that his own room might give him was weighing on his mind.

Perhaps he could build a place? With magic he doubted that construction would be too arduous, but an established home would be better. Briefly he wondered if Salazar had a manor somewhere, but remembered his tale. It had been destroyed. Might the Potter family have a mansion? But no, the house at Godric's Hollow had been destroyed, and as far as he was aware they didn't own any other properties. They'd been well off, but not _that_ well off.

What would be ideal was a remote isle that he could place heavy and complex wards on. He would only need somewhere small…but what would he do when he had it?

"Muster a resistance," Salazar put in, walking up and inspecting the potions. "You can seal the first batch now."

Realising he had been staring into place, he shook his head and began corking and sealing the bottles. They all had unbreakable and preservation charms on them, and he added a small twist of his own magic to seal them.

"Muster a resistance?" Harry asked with an ironic smile. "What: 'Harry Potter against the world'?"

Salazar shot him a scathing look and didn't answer. Instead, he said, "Who has the current self proclaimed 'Dark Lord' set his sights upon?"

"Me," Harry said, twirling a cork in his hands. "It's a good idea and all, but the only people I can see joining me are my friends, and they're not exactly great in combat."

Salazar snorted. "Wars are not won in combat alone. However," he paused, "you may be interested in the magical map of England for the placement of this 'home'."

He held in his hand a thick scroll, which he offered to Harry. Curious, he made his way over to an unused bench and unrolled the large map. When he looked at it, he couldn't help but let out a silent exhalation. It seemed that Magical Britain was a great deal larger than he had expected. There were numerous isles that he had not seen before, and a small portion of the Southwest and Scottish coasts that were a different shape to the one he knew.

"There's….there's so much more land!" Harry exclaimed. "They warded all this from Muggles?"

"Quite. You must remember, however, that the map is old. It is more than likely that the boundaries have changed over time," Salazar said, gesturing lazily with one hand. "There are numerous pockets of land that have been protected and lost over time too – that is simply the way it is."

Then, Harry had an idea. A great, absurd, glorious idea. "Salazar…?" he began slowly, still looking carefully at the map, "do you think…do you think I could _build_ an island?"

Salazar looked at him for a long moment before letting out a delighted laugh. "It pleases me to know you set your sights high, little one."

Harry's face fell. "I suppose it's a stupid idea."

"No, no, it is indeed possible, and many of the islands you see are wizard made, but you would need…" he paused, thinking, before turning his back and walking across the gap in the floors down to the study. Harry followed him to the balcony rail and watched as he selected several books from the shelf along with more scrolls, and brought them back up. His expression was possibly the most purposeful and energetic he had seen yet, and Harry could feel his excitement practically rolling down the Bond in waves.

"There are many options," he said, setting the books down beside the map. "You could order the vast quantities of rock required to build it, which if correctly done, would be incredibly stable and resistant. You could also produce some incredible Stone Fastenings that would resist the destructive power of the sea, not to mention cover the wards."

"Couldn't you just transfigure the sea to rock?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Ah," Salazar said with a smirk, "I see that you have not yet learnt Pure Transfigurations. What you are learning now is the impure version, which is why transfigured foods never provide adequate sustenance. However," he said, expression becoming thoughtful. "It is theoretically possible, and with your rather...unique outlook on magic these days, you may be able to produce a formula to alter the rock as you transform it."

Harry frowned, rolling the information over in his head. "Couldn't I add one of those spells-within-spells that the Ministry uses? Then there would be some built in defence too."

Salazar stared at him unblinkingly, and Harry realised that he was considering the suggestion. The strange thing about ghosts is that they had no need to blink, and he had a feeling that Salazar only did so out of habit.

"It would be complex…" he said slowly. "And working out the various equations and patterns would be most taxing, but with a successful theory it would likely be the best solution as it would not do for you to attract attention to your endeavours if you wish them to remain secret for long."

"Where can I get a copy of the original spell manuscripts?" Harry asked. "I'm guessing they're not going to be on public display."

"Indeed not," Salazar agreed, "but I believe they are available to those with a Mastery in Spell Design. I did much research into the subject when I overheard the intriguing theory, and each Master takes a vow of secrecy. An Unbreakable one if I am correct in my estimation."

"Right, so what you're saying is that I either need to become a Master and take a vow, or I have to steal from a high security department?" Harry recounted dryly.

"Exactly. But it will not be as hard as you think, little one," Salazar assured him absently. "I have no doubts that there are ways to impersonate and discover their procedures. If not, then it is always possible to use some form of mental control to recover what you desire."

Pulling a book from the pile before him, Harry examined the title. It read 'Raising Land and Parting Seas'. Briefly Harry wondered whether Moses had been a wizard, before flipping through the chapters. It showed many complex spells and theories behind the movement of land and water. With a sudden shiver, Harry realised that he was going to have to be building from the seabed and up. It was not something he was looking forwards to.

"That may not be a problem," Salazar said in answer to his thoughts, still staring at him with a considering expression. "It is quite possible that you could measure the height of the sea bed, estimate the quantity of stone you would need and simply run your magic through it whilst you redirect it. You will need to work on your Magical Perception though," he said with a frown, which Harry mirrored in confusion.

"You mean I could just hover above the water and do it all with my magic?" he said with disbelief.

"With difficulty, yes. However, uncovering a method to drop you to the bottom of the ocean will also prove difficult," said Salazar scathingly.

"Aren't there laws about this sort of thing?" Harry pursued, ignoring Salazar's snide comment.

"I am sure that there are, but the practice has been dead since my time, and even then it was rare. It is unlikely that you will find any wizard today creating an island."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked sceptically. "It seems like something that both the Ministry and Voldemort would love to do."

"And that is precisely the reason why you will be performing a vast range of scanning and monitoring spells around your given area. It would not do to begin construction within sight of any other life form but those that live in the ocean."

Harry absorbed this, but was struck by the last phrase. He knew that the Channel tunnel had been built, and he knew that there were vast networks of underground caves and military bases all around the country. Had wizards done this too?

"I am unsure," Salazar replied, casually listening in on his thoughts. "I know that many wizards made a practice of inhabiting cave systems for their attack centres. There were various opposing factions in my time, as I told you, and many operated in such a way. However, I am not aware of extensive alterations being applied to rock in order to produce tunnels. I believe that is a purely Muggle innovation. Wizards tended to limit themselves to the construction of their own homes."

Harry grinned. "I guess I have an advantage then."

"Indee-" he began, before cutting himself off. A wave of vague remembrance rolled down their bond. "I remember a time when Godric showed great interest in the possibility of…what was it?" he frowned. "'Corridors through water', I believe."

"I need to find his portrait soon then," Harry said purposefully, toying with the edge of the map laid across the table.

"Agreed. He also travelled much once he had left our mentor, and I with him. He was greatly interested in flying carpets that he found in the east, and I believe you may find them useful if you plan on manipulating stone from the surface of the water."

"Right," Harry said, pulling a piece of parchment towards him, "time to start planning for real then."

It took them a great deal of time to go over all the details and come out with a rough but workable plan of the construction Harry wanted to do. The island would be his most pressing challenge, and would require a great deal of work and help. He would be able to do a good amount himself, but for many parts of it he would need a specialist. Salazar would be quite able to help him with the manipulation of rock, and it appeared that Godric would be able to aid with the manipulation of water, but for areas such as complex warding or advanced construction, he would need an expert. Harry made a note to contact Bill when he re-emerged into the outside world.

He planned to build an island of the minimal possible size first, one that would barely be the size of a small house. Then he would be able to run tunnels beneath the surface and set up a constant and gradual project of expansion. Salazar spoke of several methods of protection, all of which Harry duly noted. He would need to have specialised anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards that he'd be able to make alterations to. However, these would need to be embedded within the main wards to prevent enemies from tampering with them. Not only that, but Harry would, by necessity, have to place it under the Fidelius charm, and preferably make it Unplottable too.

However, the mechanics of the wards were going to be difficult. Generally warding was only done once the building was complete, and was tied to a central focus, namely the precise structure of the building. This meant that altering the warding to cover a larger area was extremely difficult. In Harry's case, he was planning on creating more land, and he would preferably be establishing most protections before the surface of the isle became visible. This meant that he was going to have to find a professional Ward Constructor to help him, and he preferably wanted to do it legally. Of course, as Salazar was only too happy to point out, there were other ways to encourage people to do your bidding, ones that wouldn't cost him money and time.

Harry would have to pick a very durable rock to help withstand erosion, but he would also have to balance it with his spell-working abilities, as the tougher the rock the more difficult it was to fasten spells to it. He would have to work out the effects that placing an isle would have on the surrounding waters, and make sure the location was not in direct route with regular ships. Not to mention he would have to take measures against Muggle devices such as radar.

Then there was the construct itself. Harry planned to build a reasonable sized building on top, but beneath the surface he wanted to create a vast network of tunnels. If what Salazar had said was correct, then he would also want to discover from Godric the methods behind building corridors through the surrounding ocean. He guessed that it was a cousin to the Bubble-Head charm he had seen in Cedric use in the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Besides the isle, he also needed a temporary place to stay. In memory of the cave that Sirius had used, and in homage to the wizards that had used cave systems in the past, Harry extended his plan to searching out a good number of sites that had caves in them, and even create some of his own. Salazar explained that compared to the troubles of building an island, burrowing into hillsides was child's play. It would also prove a good practice for the warding and construction he would have to undertake for the isle.

Calling Dobby up, Harry asked if he could bring him some maps from the Hogwarts library, and set about poring over them. Magical Britain had not changed that much over a thousand years, but it had expanded in some places and contracted in others. A few islands had gone over to Muggle rule, and others had been taken over. However, Harry had to search harder to find geological maps, as the Wizarding world seemed to show less of an interest in it than their Muggle counterpart.

Finally he managed to isolate a few prospective areas, and found the benefits of having magical maps. In short, he was able to _zoom_. So it was that he picked out sites in Derbyshire, the Mendip Hills, and the Scottish Highlands. There still remained a problem though.

He needed to get there, and for some reason Salazar had removed the part of his memory that would tell him the theoretical method. He knew it was called Apparition but…

"How?"

"Use your magic to move yourself from one space to another," Salazar said. "It should pose little problem for you."

Frowning, Harry thought of how he would move to the floor below. He wanted it to be instantaneous, but he felt he could settle for the gradual fade that he got when he was moving to or from his mind. Pulling a thread of his magic into his veins, he sighed with pleasure at the familiar feeling of power coursing through his body. Focusing on his usual seat on the sofa a floor below, he tried to imagine the slow shift between here and there. _Moving all of my body slowly into the space from here to there like Opa fades with her spectre blood, fading and reappearing…_

Blinking, Harry opened his eyes, and drooped with disappointment.

"Concentrate and focus," Salazar commanded, looking at him critically.

Scowling at the ghost, Harry closed his eyes again and calmed his breathing. He pictured where he wanted to end up, what it would feel like if he were there, and tried to wrap his magic around himself like a cloak, to transport himself from one place to another.

_Fade…_

Opening his eyes, he couldn't help but feel a grin come across his face. Looking down at his hands, he found that he still looked rather see-through, but was becoming visible rapidly.

"Interesting," Salazar commented, eyeing him. "I haven't seen that method in a long time. Fading…" he trailed off thoughtfully. "Return to where you were before, and we shall experiment."

With a nod, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. _Fade away, fade away…_to his surprise, it was far easier returning. He supposed that it was because he had inhabited that space only a moment before.

"Good," Salazar commended. "Now, 'fade' but remain in the same place."

It took a good deal of experimentation to manage this feat, but Harry eventually managed to fade into near obscurity. Salazar watched as he experimented before raising a hand to stop him.

"You're growing tired," he noted. "I will leave you to your rest."

Harry flopped tiredly onto the bed in his room, thinking over all that had happened in the day. A warm glow filled him as he mused on his plans. Finally, _finally,_ he was getting somewhere, and for the first time since he'd arrived in Salazar's rooms and began his learning, Harry felt like he was really getting close to being a proper match for Voldemort.

Sitting in the dark, Harry felt a smirk cross his face. He was going to give Voldemort _hell_.

---


	44. Ginny Flees

---

**Ginny Flees**

---

The morning dawned cold and unpleasant for Harry. He'd dreamt that same dream again, and the events of the previous day were catching up. The article that Ginny had read to him had angered him at the time but it was only now that he really contemplated it, and it filled him with an icy rage. The fickle nature of the public had infuriated him before, but nothing could come close to the deep-set betrayal at the accusations of cold-blooded murder.

The world expected him to be their saviour, hailing him with respect and praise when he was wearing the mantle of the Boy-Who-Lived, but they were quick enough to cast it aside when an impostor appeared doing dreadful deeds, even though there was nothing more than photographic evidence to suggest it was him. Their willingness to just close their eyes and pretend that Voldemort wasn't there set his teeth on edge and made suppressed fury bubble up to the surface.

In a distant corner of his mind he coolly assessed the simple, yet skilful exploitation of the situation. The papers had done a good job with their research – the reports were relatively accurate, and the psychological assessments were even plausible. However, that only increased the odds he would have to contend with. It wasn't a simple matter of launching a similar smear campaign against Voldemort – everyone knew he was a vicious, soulless bastard, but they also believed him to be dead, whereas Harry was fighting to prove the rise of a monster. A cunning monster.

Growling, he did his morning ritual of stretches before heading upstairs for breakfast. He had finished his meal and was in the middle of working out the appropriate spellwork for his Animagus transformation when Salazar appeared.

"Morning," he mumbled, biting his lip and frowning over his calculations.

"Good morning. I trust you slept well?" Salazar sat opposite.

"Yeah…" Harry said, crossing out one of the spells. Salazar leant inquisitively across the table.

"May I see?"

"What?" Harry said, startled out of his thoughts. "Oh, yeah. Here," he finished, handing the scrolls over.

Salazar examined them carefully, nodding occasionally at the plans. "Your major charm web is well constructed, and needs little change, but the minor and interactive spells will require greater thought," he replied, giving it back. "Perhaps you would benefit from a little background knowledge of the transformation mechanics," he offered. "It would allow you to implement some subtler changes to your spellwork."

Pausing to think it over, Harry nodded and eagerly accepted the book that moved itself from the shelf and into his hands. Running his fingertips over the embossed letters on the leather bindings, he looked up curiously.

"'Shapeshifters'?" he asked.

"There is greater possibility for magic than you have been led to believe," Salazar said cryptically, standing. "Read the book, and I will be here to answer your questions."

With a brief nod, Harry turned to the book and began to read.

Two hours later he sat back, head reeling. All in all, the book had upset quite a good deal of information he had assumed to be true. As it turned out, the book (which was written in Salazar's time) documented three main veins of transfiguration under the category of shape shifting.

The first was simple Human Transfiguration, which was possible in a limited sense to the common witch or wizard, allowing them to change simple details such as fingernail length and hair colour. However, those with an aptitude could perform greater changes, such as the rearranging of facial structure, and in rare cases, the changing of height and body mass. This was generally a long and arduous process that was known to take up to several days to complete in some cases, because of the alteration of delicate structures such as vocal chords and hearing. It involved the use of the user's magic to remodel their body whilst retaining the same mind; that was the risk that made the more complex transformations dangerous – accidents tended to have a very adverse affect on the brain.

The second subcategory was similar to the first, but documented the naturally skilled Metamorphmagi. These were witches and wizards whose magic was very fluid, and reacted in a particular way to their structural make-up. The problem with Metamorphmagi was the fact that the only way to identify them was through their magical signature, as they went through their spontaneous changes from conception. As the first category of advanced Human Transfiguration showed, it was possible for normal wizards to achieve the same results, but never with the same ease or speed.

The third subcategory was that of Animagus Transfiguration. Because of the complete restructuring of the body's make-up the only conceivable way to transform was to use a potion and complex net of spells.

However, all three subsections were intimately entwined. Only full Metamorphmagi were able to change rapidly, but there were many witches or wizards that possessed a small measure of the gift, thus allowing easier Human Transfigurations. For full Metamorphmagi, there was also the possibility of multiple Animagus forms, but the changeable nature of the gift meant that the construction of the potion and spell net was almost impossible, and there had been less than a handful ever recorded doing so successfully.

Those who possessed a small amount of the Metamorphmagus talent could become Animagi with greater ease and more flexibility during the transformations, but just like full-blooded Metamorphmagi the construction of the potion and spell net was difficult. Their talents allowed them to manipulate their form to some degree if they managed the transformation, changing things such as colour and shape, but the switch to another species was virtually impossible, and just as gruelling as the advanced Human Transfigurations.

Harry sat thinking for a long while before summoning a fresh piece of parchment and furiously scribbling down a new variation of the spell mesh. He had the inklings of an idea, and he was almost sure that it would be possible. All that mattered now was the actual orchestration.

Since the beginning of his Apprenticeship, Salazar had insisted on his learning the basics of many subjects, including Arithmancy (which he disliked) and Ancient Runes (which he began to study of his own volition after seeing the runes used in the binding ritual). This was lucky, because Harry found himself needing both subjects in working out the spells. He would need to find a good base spell to begin the mesh, and he would have to suspend it whilst he added all the others. Once the basic mesh was finished he could merge it with himself and add the final adjustments. It was necessary to build the spells that way, because otherwise they could simply be cancelled over him once he was finished. Not to mention that their interwoven nature would allow them to accommodate and facilitate the changes.

Sighing, Harry looked back at his pages of notes and wondered how he had produced so much. Wiping the hair out of his face, he re-read them. The idea was plausible, but he would need to do a lot of work yet. The theory behind Metamorphmagi was that it relied on the unstable quality of their magic, which when it was attuned to the body resulted in changes. The key was the conscious decision to make changes. By his estimations, the interaction of the potion, some carefully maintained, complex and intensely unstable spells, and his naturally fluid magic would result in a greater command of the transformation than he would otherwise achieve, letting him alter the colour and shape of his form like a wizard who had a mild Metamorphic talent.

Groaning and stretching, Harry removed his workings to his trunk and headed down to the ground floor. It was time that he started doing some defensive and offensive magic.

---

Albus Dumbledore stared at the assembled faces before him and allowed himself a small sigh. He had a distinct feeling that the meeting was going to be even more chaotic than usual.

"Welcome friends, I am glad to see you all well. Our first agenda: has anyone heard from or seen Harry Potter?" he asked, looking hopefully around the room.

There was a round of head-shaking and mumbled negative replies until a voice broke out from the rest.

"I sincerely _hope_ the boy I saw wasn't him," a black-haired witch called out. Albus raised his brows.

"You saw him?" he queried.

"Well, it certainly looked like him," Hestia replied. "But I didn't like the way he was throwing Unforgiveables at me, so I didn't stick around to check," she said dryly.

There was the predictable gasping and dissent at that statement, and Albus raised a hand for silence.

"And so we arrive on our second agenda. Have we had confirmation of this impostor?" he inquired.

"Oi! How do we know he's really an impostor eh?" Mundungus Fletcher shouted over the din.

"I can assure you that Harry would under no circumstances turn Dark," Albus said firmly. "He simply does not have his heart in the right place to perform those kind of spells."

"Of course he doesn't!" Molly exclaimed, scandalised. "He's the sweetest boy, and he wouldn't become Dark! Look what You-Know-Who did to his parents! There's no way he'd start doing all this stuff," she said a little tearfully, "even if we don't know where he is."

"I'm jus' saying that the Prophet migh' 'ave a point. Maybe he's become un'inged," Mundungus grumbled.

"Shut up Dung," Sirius growled dangerously. "Harry isn't out there killing people."

"Then where, pray, is the boy?" asked Snape silkily, and Sirius' eyes widened and then narrowed.

"You tell me _Snivellus_," he sneered, "what do your little Death Eater buddies say about it?"

"It's a pity Black," Snape said casually, "that you're too worried about your own skin to go look for him yourself."

Sirius made to stand, but Remus took a firm hold on his shoulder and steered him back into his seat.

"Please attempt to be civil. Severus, Sirius, your school days are over," Albus said tiredly. Turning to the Potions Master he continued, "You're certain that Voldemort does not have the boy?"

"Definitely," he replied shortly. "He has been sending out search parties, headed by Lucius Malfoy."

Albus frowned at this, whilst several other Order members gasped, or in Sirius' case growled their dissent. "And what of the impostor?"

"He has been keeping it quiet, but several of the Inner Circle have been talking," he said with a slight curl of his lip. "I have reason to believe that it is Lucius impersonating our 'young Saviour'," he sneered.

Albus nodded gravely. "Thank you Severus. Hestia?" he turned to the dark-haired witch. "What of your mission?"

She shook her head slightly; "The first house was already tagged – that's where I met Potter…or his impostor anyway. I barely made it to the Apparition point. I visited the cottage, but there were strong wards around it, and we certainly didn't put them up when we were living there."

Albus' frown deepened. "Wards, you say?"

"Yep. I only had to touch the doorknob and then I was blown a good few metres in the air," Hestia confirmed. "I don't know how you plan on getting it, but next time we need back-up. I didn't stay around to check if I'd been caught."

"Of course," Albus agreed thoughtfully. "Bill, would you accompany her on the return mission and apply your skills to the wards?" he said, turning to the eldest Weasley. He nodded. "Alastor? They could use your rather unique eye to find it."

Remus frowned at the headmaster. "Find what?" he asked.

"Something that could be of grave importance to the cause," Albus replied seriously. "Now, on other matters…"

---

Watching the Order meeting disperse, Severus remained in his position in the shadows. Mercury smiled at him – a familiar smile. The one where they both knew they were going in for the kill. Severus had never liked that Weasley brat, and here was the chance to have a little revenge. Besides, she _knew_ something.

"Albus," he began.

"Severus, my boy," he said with a slight smile. "What can I do for you?"

"I have reason to believe that Miss Weasley knows of Potter's whereabouts," he said smoothly, mentally smirking as he caught Mercury's momentary grin.

"Ah," Albus sighed. "This is perhaps something that should be discussed in my office." He gestured towards the fireplace. "Step right through and take a seat, I will only be a moment."

Severus nodded, and a flash of green fire later he was sitting with Mercury before the Headmaster's desk. The phoenix raised its head and eyed him beadily for a moment before dropping it back beneath its wing. Idly Severus wondered whether he would be able to get the girl expelled for withholding information.

"You won't, you know," Mercury said restraining another grin. Severus raised a brow.

"Snooping on my thoughts Sebastian?" he said archly. The other man broke out into a smile.

"No need. I know you too well for that," he replied.

"It's a shame really. I was so looking forwards to telling the girl's parents," he said nastily.

"Oh yes, their faces would have been perfect. But of course, you would have had to bear all those indignant screeches and barely concealed glares whenever you were around," Mercury said contemplatively. Severus winced.

"Of course," he agreed resignedly.

"You could always forge a memory of her attacking you," Mercury suggested with a smirk. Severus groaned.

"Don't tempt me. Besides, memories are your speciality."

"Naturally. Why Obliviate when you can simply rearrange what happened?"

"Hmm," Severus hummed, before shooting a glance at the fireplace.

"What do you think is taking the old man so-" Mercury began, but cut himself off and reset his face into blankness as the fire flared.

Brushing soot from his robes, Albus stepped out and took his seat behind the desk. "Now, dear boy, you were saying something about Miss Weasley?" he asked, expression serious. "What makes you suspect that she knows of Harry's whereabouts?"

"She was unnaturally quiet when her two companions announced Potter's absence," he stated. Albus sat back in his chair with a weary expression.

"Those are hardly grounds for your suspicions Severus," he reprimanded gently.

"I had the occasion to catch her thoughts, and they pointed strongly towards Potter," he said, before adding reluctantly, "And I have a suspicions of a different kind concerning your Golden Boy."

Albus frowned and motioned for him to continue.

"During the Christmas Break I happened to be reprimanding him for his appearance at the Ritual when I overheard something that peaked my interest," he murmured.

"Listening to thoughts Severus? This is unlike you," Albus said with a disapproving frown.

"When they're being broadcasted to the whole room then it's difficult to ignore them," Severus sneered. "The brat has no control at all."

The Headmaster sighed. "Go on then, what did he say that aroused your doubts?"

"He mentioned a name," Severus said slowly. "I believe he compared my eyes unfavourably to Salazar Slytherin's, as if he had met the man."

Albus looked up sharply, and smile in his eyes disappearing.

"You remember the jar containing snakes that was owned by Salazar himself?" Severus continued, watching the headmaster closely. "The sticking charm that you were unable to remove apparently failed, conveniently close to when I questioned the boy."

He watched with a breed of distant curiosity as the man before him paled a little, and his eyes widened as if pieces of a mental puzzle were falling into place. Finally the headmaster tore his thoughts away from whatever dilemma this had roused in him and refocused on the two teachers.

"Thank you Severus, Sebastian," he said slowly. "I would be grateful if you would summon Miss Weasley to my office."

Severus knew a dismissal when he heard one. Standing, he left the office and headed swiftly towards the Gryffindor Tower.

---

Slashing with one hand, the fiery whip connected with the spell and dissipated it. Wiping sweat from his brow, Harry dodged to one side and lashed out at the purple streak of light heading his way. The long coil of fire that was wrapped around his hands hit it with a snap, and the hex was deflected, landing harmlessly on the surrounding shield.

"You are not working hard enough," Salazar chastised, circling him. "You must disrupt and destroy the spells."

He gestured idly, and another flash of light sped towards him. Throwing both hands out, Harry made the whips twist and meet the spell with a sharp point; shattering it and sending sparks scattering across the floor.

The painted version of Salazar watched with a sly smile as his protégé danced around the room, snapping the flaming cords and deflecting the attacks he sent. He had advanced quickly, and after being hit a few times he pulled himself together and struck with a faultless accuracy. Smirking, he sent a few globes of light from all directions, and felt a great wave of satisfaction when the boy spun and clipped all of them.

"Better," Salazar said, eyeing him critically. With a wave to his painted counterpart, he halted the spells, although the gesture was really more for the boy's sake than his.

Harry straightened out of his crouch and flexed his hands, drawing the fiery whips back into his wrists. Grinning broadly despite his growing fatigue, he walked up to the ghost.

"Tired of throwing curses at me already?" he asked. Salazar chuckled.

"You are react with reasonably good instincts, but there is still much to be refined," he said. "Your reflexes are acceptable, but you lack the grace of movement necessary to evade attacks. Your deflections are effective, but the choice of flames allow the whips to cross without trouble, something that would not happen were they to be solid."

Salazar beckoned him closer and took a hold of his arm, making Harry shiver from the icy touch. Frowning, the Founder traced the place on his wrist from where the flames had emerged, thoughtful.

"Create something solid," he said, dropping the arm. "This time there will be no spells. Attempt to strike me."

Surprised, Harry nodded and drew a long leather whip from each wrist. Grasping them, he assumed a better stance and lashed out at the Founder, who promptly side-stepped the attack. He tried with the other arm, and then struck with both, but each time the man merely dodged or ducked to the side.

He grinned, despite himself. The spells hadn't been that much of a real challenge as he was aided by his magic. However, after ten minutes of flailing and slashing empty air, he was becoming a little frustrated. Salazar wove in between his attacks with a kind of inborn grace that left Harry far behind. While he would lunge haphazardly, the ghost would move with elegance and poise, mocking him with his agile dodging.

It was five minutes after that when Salazar held up his hand for him to stop. Harry hadn't landed one blow, and he had managed to tangle the whips a good few times as well.

"You can understand the benefits of speed and poise now then, little one," Salazar said with an incline of his head.

"Yeah," Harry laughed, a bit abashed, "I couldn't even land a blow."

Salazar smirked. "I have had a millennia to perfect my techniques."

Harry grinned appreciatively. "That does help," he agreed, before becoming pensive. "You know, I don't really know where I am in relation to anybody else magic-wise. I mean, I can conjure all these things but they're useless against you."

Salazar inclined his head. "True. I suspect that were you to go up against an experienced duellist, even if they were limited to a wand, that you would be at a disadvantage in terms of your experience."

Harry's expression darkened a little. "So, no chance of being able to beat Lucius Malfoy into a bloody pulp?" he asked hopefully.

Salazar chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure you could find a way. You are simply no match for the more…inventive duellists."

"Voldemort," Harry said with a sinking feeling.

"And Albus Dumbledore to a lesser extent," Salazar conceded. "He may be significantly weakened, but he is an incredibly intelligent man. He would assess your weaknesses and play to them. Your schoolmates however, present no match to you. None of the spells taught in Hogwarts should present a problem to you anymore. Am I correct?"

Harry nodded his head. "I guess not. Hermione will kill me for cheating the system," he added with a grin.

"Quite," Salazar said in a bored voice. "Now, tell me why I was able to predict your attacks."

Harry looked at him thoughtfully. "You could read my movements?" he guessed.

"That is one of the methods, yes," Salazar agreed. Harry looked at him blankly for a moment before scowling.

"You were just looking at my thoughts, weren't you?" he accused.

"Naturally," Salazar agreed, eyes glinting with amusement. "That is the crux of this lesson, and an invaluable tactic. Not only do you know what spell the opponent will cast, but where they will strike, when they will strike, and how they will strike. You understand how they will try to dodge your next attack, and what their response will be."

Harry blinked. "Well, when you put it like that…" he trailed off. "But I don't know how to get into another person's head, and it's not like I'm going to be able to do that to you is it?"

"I disagree," Salazar cut him off. "You have already done it once, and I give you leave to attempt to practice on myself. I have a…different variation of the normal discipline than is generally taught." He grinned sharply, "The benefit of being dead."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "All right. Besides, your variation seems to be better if you can enter my head without me even feeling it."

"Of course," said Salazar smugly, smoothing down his sleeves.

"You have had a thousand years to perfect it," Harry answered his own question with a smile. "Right, what do I do?"

"Begin by-" he started, before cutting himself off, tilting his head as if he were listening to something in the distance.

"Salazar?" Harry said tentatively.

The Founder frowned and shook his head. "Begin by expanding your senses. Spread the lightest magical touch possible to your surroundings."

Harry nodded and shut his eyes. Reaching into the magical lake he imagined drawing a minutely thin grey thread from where the waters blended into shadow. He mentally expanded it, picturing the globe of magic touching everything around him, spreading over the ground level of the rooms.

He was shocked as his brain was assaulted with information. He could feel where Salazar was, and the grain of the wooden floor, the textures of the books on the shelves at the far end of the room, and most shocking of all, the thousands of snakes that adorned everything in the room, all shifting and hissing in his head. Even the dust motes that hung in the air, even the minuscule droplets of water that hung before his lips with each exhalation.

Harry had a brief moment of universal awareness before he dropped bonelessly to the floor.

---

Salazar leant casually against a bookcase in the back of a painting, looking out into the Headmaster's office. The nervous looking portly wizard who was sitting rigidly in the chair at the forefront of the picture easily obscured him from the Albus' sight and he watched with avid attention as the man paced the room.

"Fawkes…how could this happen?" he murmured. "They were hidden…the boy was safe…" he trailed off as a portrait announced the arrival of two teachers.

"Albus!" Severus growled. "She's gone! Nowhere in the school, not hide or hair of the little brat!"

Mercury entered the room with a great deal more composure, and waved a note in front of the older man. "She left this," he said.

Albus took the note from him and read it, eyes widening in alarm. When he finished, it dropped to the table, and Salazar leant forwards curiously.

'_Hermione, Ron,_

_I'm leaving this for you so you'll know why I'm gone. Don't worry big bro, I'm safe, but I had to leave in a hurry because certain people were going to start prying into my secrets and thoughts. Don't say it's not true, because I have it on good authority that the three resident Mind Arts Masters had it in for me._

_Don't worry! I'll be back when Harry returns, or sooner. Don't you dare go searching for us though – we're safe, and we'll explain everything when we return._

_Love,_

_Ginny_

P.S – In the mean time, start brushing up on Occlumency, and keep going with the resistance. Tell mum and dad not to worry. I'm safe, promise.'

On the other side of the school, Ginny settled into a chair by the fire and smiled up at the portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw.

---

**Notes:** Ho ho ho, things are changing faster now. Harry will be out before long. Also, on a note of interest, the story has 666 reviews now. So my thanks to everyone who's dropped by a kind word or criticism, or even the occasional flames. Those amuse me more than they should.


	45. Learning to Sneak

---

**Learning To Sneak**

---

"I can't believe she's gone!" Ron shouted, glaring at the fire with a blend of anger and betrayal. "She makes it sound like she knew where Harry was too!" He paused and then threw his hands up in irritation. "Why didn't she tell us?"

"I don't know Ron, and we're not going to find out until they come back," Hermione said decisively, before the tone failed and she bit her lip. "It didn't sound like the notes were fake…"

"My little sister and my best mate are missing!" he said angrily. "I can't just sit here and hope they're coming back can I?"

"Well what else are we going to do?" Hermione snapped. "You can go searching all you like, but I'm going to do what Ginny asked and carry on with our plan."

"Huh," Ron huffed, "you just don't want to have to leave your books and search for them do you? That's it isn't it!"

"Don't you dare suggest any such thing!" Hermione's voice became icy. "I care for them as much as you, but I'm not about to go gallivanting off into trouble just because I was too dim to pay attention to what they said! I'm going to do something that will actually help them!" she said a little tearfully, and got up from her seat, running up the stairs to the girl's dormitories.

"Yeah, always running away!" Ron yelled impotently after her. "You're not helping them at all!"

But she was already out of earshot. Ron slumped back into his chair, scowling at the wary looking students nearby. It was going to be a stressful term.

---

Harry came to slowly, aware of the cold and uncomfortable feeling of lying on a hard wooden floor. Blinking, he sat up to see Salazar watching him with an amused smirk. Sending a mock scowl his way, he hauled himself to his feet. A glance at the sky through the glass roof told him he hadn't been out for that long. At least he didn't think so anyway.

_Twenty minutes _, Salazar murmured in his head, making him shiver a little. He doubted he would ever get used to being answered in his own head. It was so strangely tied up with his thoughts that at times he could barely distinguish it from his own.

_What happened?_ he asked.

_A simple sensory overload. You must learn to direct your expanded senses, or they will feed back everything they find to you. _Out loud he said, "Try again."

Nodding, Harry did. When he awoke next, he learnt that he had only been knocked out for seven minutes.

It took him a good hour or so to manage the feat without sending himself into unconsciousness, but it made the achievement that much sweeter. There was something completely mind-blowing and otherworldly about being able to sense the room around him without even moving or opening his eyes. He had managed to lessen the focus to a reasonable level, but he could still _feel_ the thousands of souls of snakes scattered around the room, and he could still feel Salazar. Both showed up like flashing blips on a map.

Salazar. The ghost was a complete enigma to his senses. He was there, but not there, alive, but dead, tangible, but intangible. Most confusing of all were the whispers of thought the ghost was allowing to escape. He would catch a vague idea of intention, or movement, but it was unlike anything he had felt before. Movement for a ghost was still a concept that was completely alien to him. A ghost wasn't driven by muscles or bone. It was driven by thought – pure will. Salazar may have had a thousand years to hone the ability, but Harry suspected he would have to have a hell of a precise mind to move as he did – as if he were still alive.

Harry spent a good deal of time simply sitting and analysing the snatches of thought that Salazar was feeding him. This was extremely useful, because experiencing someone else's emotions and ideas was something that Harry wasn't used to in the slightest. Several times Salazar fed him a strong intention or emotion, and he found himself getting up or twitching not of his own volition. It was with difficulty that Harry deflected the latest one, loosening his hands as he restrained himself from latching onto his own throat and cutting off his air supply.

_Point made_, Harry directed dryly at the ghost, _you hold my life in your hands_.

_Of course,_ was his reply, and Harry smiled despite himself.

_Two can play this game_, he pointed out as he examined the compulsion to stop breathing. Concentrating, he thought about the will to twitch his left hand and mentally 'threw' it at the ghost.

_How pleasant little one! You're joining in,_ the Founder mockingly exclaimed in his head, and Harry sent back a sneer. He tried again, throwing all of his will into the idea.

Suddenly his mind went blank, and he experienced something akin to pieces of his consciousness being shifted around his head. It took him only a few seconds to realise that he could no longer effectively connect to his body, even though he could still feel everything that happened. He watched with horror as his eyes fluttered open and he stood, an action far more smooth than he would have made it. He saw himself raise his hands and flex his fingers, the fingernails growing into lengthy claws with wickedly sharp edges. A growl escaped his unwilling throat, and he ran his newly grown nails across his skin, leaving deep trails of blood and a stinging, burning pain in their wake.

With a gasp, Harry fell back onto the ground and into control, tentatively raising his arm of his own volition this time, and examining the slash marks. He ran a fingertip across the spreading mess of blood, unbelieving.

He looked up to find Salazar watching him impassively.

"What-" he began, but was cut off.

"Your second lesson of the day. If you know an opponent is by far superior to you, then do not enter in to a challenge with them. And there will _always_ be another superior to yourself," he said, eyes suddenly hard, all geniality dropping away like so much water.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, and then thought better of it. He raised himself shakily to his feet and headed towards the stairs. "At least I made those healing potions then," he said weakly.

It didn't take long to make his way to the potions lab, but Harry was still feeling very unsettled as he gulped down the medium strength potion, wincing at the taste. Never again did he want someone else to be able to control his body without his permission. It was possibly one of the most horrible things he had experienced. At least the Imperius curse sent him into a pleasant daze where nothing mattered. Being shunted into the back seat of his own mind left him agitated. For the first time he realised what it must have been like for Ginny during her possession.

Pensively he traced the red marks over his arm. If he knew Salazar, there was a lesson within a lesson here, one that would eventually become obvious. "Experience is the greatest teacher," he murmured. An offer then.

_Are you going to teach me how to do that then?_ he asked through his link to the Founder.

_Of course little one_,_ when you are ready,_ was his reply. Despite himself, he broke out into a small smile.

---

Gentle sunlight fanned down over the grass, now uncovered by the melted snow. The weather was growing warmer, and the trees were beginning to bud and blossom.

Chester lay stretched languidly over a flat rock by the lakeside, trailing his hands in the water. Spring and summer were his favourite times. There was sun, warmth and light. Long days would stretch into balmy nights, and the lights in Dreamwood Market would cast a gentle glow on the surroundings, attracting droves of lazy insects, drunk on nectar.

He longed for the bustle and joy that was the annual Dreamwood Festival. It lasted for one brilliant week where the trees and the walkways were adorned with paper lanterns, and the skies lit each and every night with fireworks. The stores would put away stock all year round for that week, and give it away free. Food, drink and trinkets would be added to his already large horde of treasures from the festival he'd attended every year of his life. The forest would fill with visitors, and perhaps he'd meet a pretty girl for some hopeless, romantic tryst.

Yes, summer was his favourite time of year. He was so distracted by his daydreaming that he didn't hear the fall of footsteps approaching him until their owner spoke.

"Uh…are you Chester?"

Blinking through heavy-lidded eyes, he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked at the girl in front of him. Bushy brown hair, but a pretty face, and an almost imperceptible sprinkling of freckles over her nose.

"Yes," he replied still eyeing her. "You're Hermione Granger aren't you?"

She smiled, looking a little relieved. "Yes, that's me."

He moved over and she sat delicately on the edge of the rock, still looking rather tense in comparison to his relaxed sprawl.

"You're Harry's friend, aren't you? He mentioned you." he noted, trying to put her a little more at ease.

Her smile turned sad. "Yes…we…I was meaning to speak to you about him actually," she said, taking a deep breath. "What…what did you think of him?"

Chester eyed her shrewdly. "You mean do I think he did all those crimes?"

Hermione winced a little, but carried on nonetheless. "Yes."

Leaning back, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sunshine, thinking. "He didn't seem the type to me." He smiled at the almost silent sigh of relief from the girl beside him. "But then, I don't know him that well do I?" he added teasingly.

"If I said that there was no way he'd do that stuff, would you believe me?" she asked, voice wavering then becoming firm.

_Ah,_ he thought, _here's the real question._

"Yes," he said simply. "I suppose I would."

"Well," she began, and hesitated. He opened his eyes to see her biting her lip nervously. "Me and a few others are trying to find people who don't believe those horrible Prophet stories. Harry's going to come back at some point, and he'll have no idea why everyone is so angry at him!"

"You want to find a way to prove his innocence," he finished for her.

"Or at the very least show that some people support him," she added.

Chester grinned, and she returned a hesitant smile. "Count me in then."

---

The Potions classroom was filled with curling fumes that served to disguise some of the rather modified walls and floor. Many patches still had metal coating them, and no amount of magic, shouting or cursing could remove it. It irritated him more than he liked to admit to know that pieces of Potter's Soul Metal still adorned his usually spotlessly clean Potions Classroom.

Severus Snape stared at his slowly ticking Tempus charm, and watched as it slowly edged towards 3 PM. They were due for a Chill soon.

Sending a glare at the empty seat that should have contained on Ginny Weasley, he stalked towards the girl he could see readying the porcupine quills far too soon. He opened his mouth to reprimand the idiot brat, but she had already dropped them, uncut, into the cauldron.

The liquid burst into the air, showering the nearby pupils. In a flash, the room filled with a deep cold that ran into his bones and made his teeth hurt. The potion droplets promptly froze, as did every other cauldron in the classroom, and then shattered on the floor, spilling icy crystals everywhere.

Severus sighed. It was going to be a long day.

---

There were definitely benefits to his newly found ability to Fade from one place to another, and now that Harry had mastered the technique he was using it to excess. He had enjoyed the hours he had spent looking as spectral and see-through as Salazar and it saved him from navigating the walkways so often. He had a faint, pressing sensation that it shouldn't be possible, but he pushed it away. After all, if he was doing it then it could be counted as possible.

Currently, he was sitting in his translucent form before the fire, shaking off the last of the Chill. It seemed fainter in the Founder's rooms, and he didn't find himself wandering unwillingly away. It did, however, set a cold into him that remained for hours. Shaking his head, he turned the page of his book. If it was bad for him, then it must be hell in the main castle.

At Salazar's insistence he had kept his magically expanded 'senses' open, and was currently reading the second book he had managed to pry of the Founder's shelves. It had involved a lot of praise, flattery, whining and cursing to get the carved snakes to agree to let him take it down, and he was beginning to wonder if anything was worth that much effort. He couldn't even summon the damn things to him through Salazar's enchantments. Paranoid bastard.

From the book, Harry was learning how to do sneaking and disguise the proper way. He had discovered that it had been another of Salazar's speciality, along with the Dark Arts, the Mind Arts, Poisons, Spell Fastenings, and general Slytherin cunning. He suspected that the man had a natural skill in several types of weaponry too. All in all Salazar didn't seem to be the kind of person who you would want to upset or piss off.

As it turned out, there were an almost criminal number of spells for disguise, many of which Salazar seemed to have modified or invented himself. There were the better known charms such as the precursors for Disillusionment, but they were also possible to see through if the person was looking hard enough. There were spells to cast an invisibility shield around someone or something, and others to muffle sound and speech. There were an enormous range to confound the senses, of which Harry took special note of the effects, and others to veil magic from being sensed by others nearby.

Upon finding Harry reading his spell books to recover the knowledge of the spells he had lost, Salazar had promptly fiddled around with his brain once more, and now he found himself unable to recite _any_ incantations or recall them, a fact that infuriated him to no end, because it meant that he couldn't absorb any new information on spells either.

Finally he had managed to find a way around it, even if it irritated him that he was playing directly into the Founder's hands. He simply struggled and manipulated his magic to mimic the effects described in the books.

He was currently reading an interesting chapter that was dedicated to truth serums and mainly, of course, how to evade answering what you didn't want to. After Snape's spontaneous little threat of using Veritaserum in the previous year he had headed to the library to do a little research into the effects, but he had always assumed the substance was infallible. This book was shedding a whole new light on the subject. It hadn't taken much guesswork for Harry to see that the book was written with less than lawful people in mind and it lent it an air of captivating mystery. Harry had always been drawn to the villains and thieves in the books he had read – those precious few he'd been allowed to read. The tales of knights, mages and assassins he'd found in his primary school library had enthralled him. There was a certain sense of irony to the fact that he was living the real thing.

It seemed that in the time that the book was published, Veritaserum, the most widely used truth serum of them all, hadn't been invented yet, and Harry made a note to ask Salazar about the drug in comparison to those in the book. Still, he supposed, the method remained the same.

The trick of it seemed to be that truth was subjective. A pureblood bigot and a liberal Muggleborn could be given the question of 'Are Muggleborns evil?' and there could be two conflicting answers that would both be 'true'. The problem was learning to manipulate these 'truths' in the meagre space of time available for formulating speech before the drug induced an answer. Truth serums were primarily designed to interfere with judgement and higher mental function, so the correct dosage was applied to get just the right mental impairment without resulting in fact and fantasy being indistinguishable.

Harry skipped the part about rules for the use of truth serums, considering that they were going to be around a 1000 years out of date, and went on to the section that detailed spells to track someone, and methods to undo locks and complex enchantments.

An hour later, he put it aside and stood up. He had read about a charm that made the caster blend into their surroundings, like a chameleon. The effects were good, but the charm itself seemed rather out of date, and Harry wanted to alter it. The charm in the book relied on a 'shield' that surrounded the caster and caused the effect, but it could be easily cancelled. What Harry wanted to do was make his _skin_ blend in, like a skilled Metamorphmagus could with a little effort.

Focusing, he called his magic up until it hung around him like a cloak, surrounding his body. He prodded it, moulded it, and opened his eyes. Looking down at himself, he couldn't help but let out a whoop. However, that all changed when he moved his hand and realised his mistake.

The image was fixed. He would only be invisible if he stayed motionless. Otherwise he was just a walking painting. Grumbling, he called his magic up again.

And after another few tries it worked.

Grinning, he examined his arms, and was pleased to see that he…well…_couldn't_ see them.

_What have you done little one? I can feel the satisfaction rolling off you in waves,_ asked a dry voice in his head.

With a smirk, he 'felt' for the bond and Faded to where it originated. Harry found himself standing in the long room containing the Stone Fastenings, the gems glinting and glittering on all sides. Salazar was standing about halfway down, closely examining one of them, but he looked up when Harry entered. For a moment his eyes narrowed and then widened in surprise.

"Very good little one, very good," he praised.

Harry grinned and pulled himself back into visibility. "How did you know I was here?"

Salazar merely smiled and tapped his temple. Harry let out an 'oh'.

"I was thinking," Harry said after a pause, strolling towards the ghost, "it's not going to be the same around people who are alive, is it? I mean, I can't hear your thoughts, but you've had a millennia to become as skilled as you are. What's it going to be like around crowds?"

"Loud," Salazar chuckled, continuing his perusal of the crystals. "But learning from a ghost attunes you to subtleties."

Harry groaned, flopping into a seated position on the floor. "Let me guess: their thoughts are just as moronic and loud as they are?"

"So cynical." Salazar smiled softly. "You will need to pick one of them to experiment with," he added, turning a red gem this way and that.

"Experiment?" Harry asked dubiously.

The Founder turned and gave him a cat-in-the-cream smile. "You must to practice to perfect. The Mind Arts are not all about eavesdropping. Some part require a more…active role. However, we can start with small things until you find someone worthwhile to play with."

He gestured with his hand and a small spider appeared. Harry eyed it with mounting apprehension. He knew what was coming next – he'd already seen it in the fake Moody's class last year, and no doubt Salazar had too when he'd looked around his head. Harry's elation at his success was quickly fading.

The little creature scuttled back and forth, but Salazar idly toed it away from the shelves. "Take control of it," he commanded.

Weakly, Harry reached out with his enhanced senses to the tiny animal, brushing its mind with his own. It instantly froze and then went slack. For a moment he thought he'd killed it, but he could still feel the minuscule hint of consciousness. Such a simple little thing. Gritting his teeth against the morals implied by the act, he made it move the side, scuttling to and fro, round and round, in triangular and square circuits.

With another wave of Salazar's hand, the spider swelled in size until it was as big as his foot. He briefly met the ghost's eyes and looked away as he spoke. "Inflict pain."

Wincing slightly, he eyed the spider that was now sitting placidly before him. Despite his bad run-ins with spiders over the years, he didn't want to cause it pain. But on the other hand…

"Your enemy will have no problems with inflicting pain," Salazar finished for him. "And your hesitation will cost you far more than it will cost you to strike first."

Stirring his resolve, he pulled a thread of power from the darker parts of his magical reservoir. The rush of power in his veins dimmed his moral dilemma.

'_No,_' Salazar cut him off with a snap of his fingers. '_Use light magic for this.'_

Frowning, Harry did as he was told, and reluctantly let go of the darker thread. Summoning his resolve, he gestured with a casual flick of his hand and watched with a disgusted, morbid fascination as it began to writhe around wildly. It was just like his fifth year, watching Moody do the very same thing, but this time the guilt was amplified tenfold, because _he_ was the one doing it. _He _was the one putting another creature in pain. With a grimace, he cut off the connection and watched as it promptly ceased to struggle and went limp, a leg occasionally twitching.

"I kill it then?" he croaked. Death for the creature was starting to seem like a mercy, and he suddenly understood what Voldemort had been talking about in that graveyard. '_It will be quick…it might even be painless…I wouldn't know.'_

Harry unconsciously shuddered and looked up to find Salazar watching him intently, dark eyes swirling with something unreadable – some strange mix of satisfaction, irritation and power.

"Go on then little one," he said softly. "Deal your touch of death."

Harry felt his lip curl, and snapped the fragile strain of life with an offhanded gesture. He tried not to look at the spider, but his eyes seemed to roam back of their own volition, and he saw it in that same classic position that they all died in – on their back, legs curled inwards. In a fit of somewhat self-loathing anger he reduced it to a pile of ashes. Salazar merely arched a brow and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Come, we will talk," he said, before disappearing. Guiltily, Harry followed, Fading to the ghost.

---

Harry cupped his hands gratefully around his coffee cup, holding it correctly without thought due to Salazar's tutelage. He silently thanked the gods that the man was observant, or he'd be using customs 1000 years out of date rather than just 20.

Merlin. He'd killed. Granted, it was only a spider, and he had killed the damn things before just by swatting them, but this time it felt somehow…different. He'd never really had it in for animals like other kids had. Spiders and insects had been his only companions for years, and he'd never joined in with the torturous process of pulling the wings or legs off of them. The only creatures he'd ever wanted to torture were the Dursleys, and that had only been in moments of intense anger.

Feeling eyes on him, he looked up and met the Founder's silvery gaze. "How is killing insects with magic different to killing them without?" Salazar asked. Oddly, it didn't bother Harry as much as it used to, to know that the ghost had been listening in on his thoughts.

"There isn't any I suppose," he mumbled. "It's just…just knowing that I'll be 'working my way up the food chain'…"

"Precisely. The process is designed to inure you to such guilt as you feel now," Salazar told him. Harry frowned.

"You shouldn't really be telling me what you're doing if you want it to work," Harry pointed out stubbornly. "And I'm not going to kill because you tell me to."

"When the time comes you won't be killing for anyone but yourself little one," he replied blandly.

"I'm not going to kill!" Harry exploded, all the pent up guilt and anger converging on the man sitting in front of him. "I don't _need_ to kill!"

Salazar merely chuckled, but this sound held none of the slight warmth that he had come to notice during his stay. It was dark, and he realised it instantly for the warning it was.

"Little one, let me assure you, you will kill, and you will need to. Now, normally I would not allow such a tone, but I am feeling lenient today," he said, snapping his fingers. Harry winced as the familiar thrill of pain went through him, thankfully not the mental overload that he had experienced first time round. He gritted his teeth and glared at the man in front of him, intent on waiting out the sensation of his nerve endings sizzling without protest.

"Now, because I am feeling lenient, I will indulge you and explain what you should already have reasoned out for yourself," Salazar continued as if he were conversing over dinner. "Even if it were not in your interests to do so, you would spend precious little time resisting before you complied. You have seen how easily I can control your thoughts and your body, although I would prefer for you to learn voluntarily. I do not appreciate manipulating your thoughts, little one. However, as I already pointed out, your enemies will have no qualms with torturing, overpowering, and killing you." He paused, contemplatively watching Harry fume. "Say it, Harry," he commanded.

"None of them have any morals, I get it," he growled, wincing as the sting of pain upped in intensity.

"If you lack some convenient truth serum in the heat of battle, days away from anywhere that you might obtain some, what can you do?" Salazar asked idly.

"Peruse their thoughts just like you always do," Harry spat. Salazar laughed again.

"Ah little one, very cunning but not the correct answer. Let us suggest that you have apprehended a high-ranking individual with powerful defences. You have not slept in two days, whilst he is as yet of peak health and concentration, and knows that he must do anything to retain his information. What do you do Harry?" Salazar repeated.

"Torture him," he ground out. A slow, cold smile spread over Salazar's face.

"You understand that at some point one of your friends will be apprehended?" Seeing Harry's glare grow tempered with fear, he shook his head. "I thought not."

"Of course I-" Harry began, grimacing as the as yet unrelieved pain spiked.

"No," Salazar cut him off. "You have not admitted it as truth. There is no chance that all of your little friends and companions will escape being captured, tortured, and possibly killed." Harry opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it again with a snap as the guilty truth descended on him. He was going to lead them into danger. He was going to put them in danger just by having spoken to them.

"Now," Salazar continued, "you don't wish this to happen, yes?"

"Yes," Harry said with defeat the fight seeping out of him.

"Yet it inevitably will, despite your best efforts," Salazar said dismissively, smirking when Harry's eyes snapped up to meet his own. "You didn't truly suspect that I would tell you that the ability to kill would prevent this?"

"Then what _will_ it do?" Harry demanded. Salazar simply rested those vibrant silver eyes on him.

"It will allow you to get them back."

---

**Notes:** Ooh, morbid. Well, Harry's struggling with his morals. He's just so nice and good and sensitive that hurting spiders gives him moral dilemmas . Thanks for the reviews people, they make me very happy. Hope you enjoyed the chapter – the next will be up in three to four days as usual.


	46. The Truth Behind The Lies

---

**The Truth Behind The Lies**

---

It was raining again. The beautiful, sunny blue skies that had shone in through the glass roof had disappeared and been replaced by dark storm clouds that brooded far above him, and rain that fell in a comforting patter. Harry was resting in one of his favourite spots in the rooms: on his back on the ground floor, staring up at the sky above that seemed to so aptly reflect his mood. Not for the first time, he recalled Rowena's mention of how her charmed ceiling had mimicked mood swings.

It had all suddenly hit home. There was going to be a war, and he was going to be out on the front lines, whether he liked it or not. Primary target. People were going to be in danger because of him. People were going to die because of him. He was going to see things that no sixteen-year-old boy should have to see. He was going to do things that no sixteen-year-old boy should have to do.

Salazar was right, something he'd grudgingly accepted. The man seemed to have a skill when it came to brutally dispelling his illusions. He needed to know how to kill. There was no way he'd be able to win with stunners and silencing charms. No shield stopped the Killing Curse, and he doubted he'd have the luck to survive with just a pretty scar again. Like it or not, he was going to kill. Like it or not, he was going to torture. And he was almost guaranteed to use the Mind Arts to control people.

Strangely, the thought of torturing a Death Eater bothered him less than the idea of torturing some animal at the moment. At least the animal hadn't done anything. Death Eaters were out now, torturing and killing people like animals.

He couldn't wait around and do nothing for much longer.

He would finish protecting his mind, learn the rest of his potions, and memorise what he needed to for disguise and defence, and then he'd be off.

With that in mind, he retreated into his mindscape.

Several hours later, he looked up from his toils in the cavernous tunnels to see Salazar watching him with a satisfied smile.

"Take a look," he offered, gesturing with one hand and bowing theatrically. Salazar laughed and walked up to inspect the patch of floor in front of him. Raising his brows, he stepped forwards and disappeared through it. With a shrug, Harry followed, dropping into a small cave that lacked lighting except for the entrance far above.

"An Oubliette," Salazar said appreciatively. "I am glad that you took my idea to heart. This however," he tapped one of the walls, "needs to change."

Following that Harry spent a good deal of time messing around with the walls per Salazar's suggestions, but eventually he opted for that same glinting black crystal that he had interspersed in the walls above. It would reflect any mental attack directly back at the caster, and would prevent them being able to 'climb' out. He even modified the entrance so that it sealed after someone stumbled into the trap.

Now that he had the method down, he scattered several more around his mind, marking each with the hissed word 'snake' that rang out when he approached so that he knew to avoid them. Salazar helped him configure it so that it would only react to his presence, and that the concealed drop to the chamber reacted only to invaders. As an afterthought, he returned to each Oubliette and added a set of animated shackles.

He spent the rest of his time inserting various jinxes that would cause the invader to trip or get strung up by their feet, or absorbed into the walls and trapped there. He was especially pleased with the Indiana Jones style darts that shot from the walls and subdued the attacker, all tactfully placed before jinxes or Oubliettes.

All he needed now were…

"Guards."

"Snakes," Salazar suggested. Harry sent him a scathing look.

"It's bad enough that you have such an obsession that you would trap their souls in your furniture, but I am _not_ filling my mind with snakes," Harry said. Salazar laughed at that.

"Oh, my Harry, how cruel you are to wound me so," he said, not looking in the slightest bit wounded at all.

"Not snakes," Harry said firmly, but his eyes with glinting with mirth.

"Perhaps not for the main guard, but re-evaluate them. They are small, unnoticed, yet they hold venom powerful enough to kill a man in their fangs."

Harry scowled, but he thought over the suggestion. "Fine, fine. You win," he muttered. "But, I need a more impressive creature too." Harry looked at Salazar and grinned. "How about a lion?"

Salazar himself looked suitably revolted. "A massive, flea-bitten cat? I think not."

"I don't know, lions are proud, majestic, noble-" Harry listed.

"Godric was neither proud, majestic or noble," Salazar said, lip curling, but his eyes were still glittering with amusement. "Would you consider a dragon?"

Harry blinked at him. "What is it with you and reptiles?"

Salazar smiled secretively. "Better conversation than mammals."

"Conversation?" he asked, surprised. "I could speak to say…lizards?"

"With difficulty. It's simply a matter of dialect," he said offhandedly. "Leave the guards for now, and concentrate on reordering your memories. It will take a great deal of time."

Harry shook his head. "I guess you're right. Memories first, beasts later."

Sighing, he headed over to the wall and prised the first silvery crystal free. _He was running away from Dudley and his gang when they were playing Harry Hunting, he ducked under a fence to hide and tried to still his breathing so that they wouldn't hear, wouldn't notice…_

Grimacing, Harry peered at the other crystals surrounding it, looking into their faceted surfaces for a clue as to what they contained. He saw himself being chased up a tree by Aunt Marge's dog Ripper as the Dursleys stood laughing below. He saw himself lunging for his Hogwarts letter and missing. He saw himself shut in his cupboard under the stairs.

Gulping, he pulled them out of the walls and added them to the pile in his arms. The more unpleasant memories he found, the angrier he got. Some of them were so deeply lodged in the walls that he couldn't even remember them, and he found himself witnessing the beatings, neglect and starvation that had riddled his childhood. All of them were just shy of what would really be called extreme abuse, but just far enough over the line that they couldn't be categorised as 'tough love' either.

Growling, he towed the pile of silvery crystals along with him, emptying the corridors of them. Salazar trailed behind, quiet and ghostly despite his fleshly appearance. A long time later, when Harry was sure that he had gathered all that he could, he created himself a small cave and threw the bundle in.

He did the same for his memories of Hogwarts, splitting them into memories of Ron, Hermione, Ginny Neville, Luna and Opa. He sorted them by year, and grouped all his memories of the yearly trials such as his discovery of the Philosopher's Stone together. For his memories of Hogwarts he created a set of interconnecting caves, dividing the memories into piles and embedding them back into the walls. He would save sorting his memories of the Dursleys for another time.

However, as he was forced to re-experience the events, he began to notice discrepancies in the 'yearly trials' that he hadn't noticed before. The Tri-Wizard Tournament revealed a snippet of Hermione reading out the rules, and Harry blinked. It would have been perfectly possible to change that 'binding magical contract' on the grounds of unintended participation and cheating if it was worded to the Goblet of Fire correctly.

The Philosopher's Stone seemed extremely poorly guarded in retrospect. An item of incalculable worth, and it wasn't warded in the slightest, only 'guarded'. There was only a simple locking charm that a first year student could undo. And Dumbledore's mentioning it in the feast – it was as if he were putting a sign up saying 'Look In The Third Floor Charms Corridor'. If the trials were easy enough for three first years to get past, then they weren't much protection. Not to mention Dumbledore's mysterious disappearance on the day of the incident. He'd said he'd been fooled, but…

Then there was his second year. The headmaster was an experienced Leglimens, yet he asked Harry if he wanted to tell him something. Harry had had no mental guards at that point – he would have known full well what he was thinking, even if he hadn't been staring intently into his eyes. He wouldn't have been able to help 'overhearing' his thoughts.

Third year. Why would he send three _children_ back in time to rescue a valued member of the Order, and one of the Marauders? If he knew he was innocent, then why did he not go back himself? And for that matter, Harry doubted that Peter Pettigrew had a protected mind. Surely he would have known that he was a traitor? Surely his parents would have _told_ him that they were changing their Secret Keeper? If Dumbledore had pushed for Veritaserum or even a _trial_, then as the most politically influential wizard in England he would have got one. Supreme Mugwump was an important position. The current Minister of Magic wouldn't have just dismissed his suggestion out of hand.

Every year he had bade goodbye to Dumbledore with a desperate wish that he could stay at the castle, not have to go back to being locked in a room, fed irregularly through a cat flap. He would have _seen_ that. The man was renowned as incredibly skilled in the Mind Arts – so why hadn't he done anything? Why hadn't he helped?

"Who was the first person who introduced you to the Wizarding World?" Salazar said, and Harry broke free of his reverie.

"Hagrid," he said in confusion.

"Dumbledore's man – very faithful to him. But it is not the habit of the grounds keeper to visit Muggleborn students. That task is given to one of the Heads of Houses," Salazar informed him in a slow drawl.

"Maybe it's because he'd known my parents," Harry suggested, but it sounded weak even to him.

"Who was the first person who spoke to you of the Slytherin house?" Salazar asked.

"Hagrid," said Harry quietly. "He said that not one witch or wizard that turned Dark came from a different house."

"Precisely. There, removed from you life, is the nurture for cunning, ambition and self-preservation," said Salazar blandly. "Who did you meet in the robes shop?"

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "No, I can't believe he orchestrated that."

"Indeed," Salazar agreed. "However, the Malfoy's are a notoriously rich and prestigious family. Madame Malkin's is a shop that supplies the masses with their robes, not purebloods who can afford better. In none of your memories are Draco Malfoy's robes of such poor quality as those you saw him being fitted with on that day."

Harry blinked. "That still doesn't make sense though."

"Doubtless they had their own machinations. After all, the boy wished to befriend you, and you turned him down. It would not have been hard for Albus Dumbledore to drop a hint or two during a meeting with the Board of Governors, nor for the elder Malfoy to do a little prying and discover which date you were to be introduced to the wizarding world. The headmaster is obliged to keep a record of such things after all," Salazar said. "Who was the family you asked for assistance at the train station?"

"The Weasleys," Harry said with a sinking feeling.

"They are Dumbledore's favourite pet Light family, and wizarding through and through. You understand that there is both an Apparition point and a Floo portal at the station?"

"But…" Harry trailed off weakly.

"Muggle student letters come with a sheet of instructions such as the whereabouts of the Leaky Cauldron and how to gain entry to Platform 9 ¾. Those instructions are also reiterated by their wizarding visitor. You received no such information," Salazar continued.

"How-"

"The Weasleys," the ghost carried on, watching Harry's downcast expression with a strange mix of emotion, "would have easily been persuaded to go to the station to meet you. Either a word from Dumbledore or a subtle mental suggestion." He paused. "Who was the first boy you met on the train?"

"Ron," Harry croaked.

"That may have been coincidence," Salazar said, "but again, a subtle mental suggestion would have prevented him from choosing a compartment without you in it. He too has been raised to believe that Slytherins are by nature evil. He mentioned that, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Now, there is a conflict of interests. Draco Malfoy, rich, Slytherin, Dark, is against Ron Weasley, poor, Gryffindor and Light. Your decisions were overridden by what you had been told. Voldemort was in Slytherin, all Slytherins are Dark. You refused his offer of friendship."

"But he was offensive and a bloody snob!" said Harry defensively.

"Of course he was, but despite his tone, his gestures and body language were that of a refined pureblood, and denoted both respect and almost a measure of equality between the two of you. Because of your upbringing, you missed signs that he would take for granted. He was, of course, correct. As good a friend as you are to Granger and Weasley, they are not the type that make political power and respect come easily."

"But I don't care about that," Harry muttered. "They're my friends. And you're telling me Ron's been manipulated into it all."

"Oh no, little one. He may have been pushed in the right direction, but your friendship is indeed pure. Dumbledore could simply have manipulated it to his advantage. Your meeting with Malfoy and the warnings against Slytherin put you into the Gryffindor house, one which whilst suited to you, limited certain aspects of your personality. The Weasleys' naturally familial tendencies allowed you to substitute them for the family you lack. And with your rescue from your relations and the praise of Dumbledore from all you met, you viewed him as your saviour, the caring grandfather you lacked."

Harry swallowed thickly, and Salazar eyed him appraisingly. "Tell me, is it not strange that the Wizarding World's Saviour is left unchecked for eleven years of his life? Even if the headmaster's wish were really to protect you from fame and give you a childhood, why would he not have checked on you?"

"I don't know…" Harry said glumly. "But you make it sound like everything was contrived to make me trust him and make me into some kind of 'weapon'."

"Ah, little one, perhaps it was to some degree. I am sure that he did genuinely intend for you to live away from fame, and he most definitely convinced himself that it was right, but that did not stop him from having an ulterior motive. I have made it my business to discover the truth behind your years at this school," Salazar told him. "For instance, in your first year he did indeed need to guard the Philosopher's Stone. However, the Elixir was impossible to make with the stone trapped in the Mirror of Erised. He simply convinced the Wizarding world that it was being protected at the school, while the real stone was hidden somewhere else entirely. Even the teachers were sure that it was there," said Salazar. "I believe that he only contrived it as a trial for you when he discovered your curiosity."

"Great, so he didn't engineer everything, he just used what he already had to mould me into some 'weapon'," Harry spat.

"Perhaps. If so, then it was manipulation of the highest order. The Headmaster is very skilled in that," Salazar said with a faint smile. "I have a suspicion that he should have been in my House."

"But why?" Harry burst out. "Why would he want _me_ to do all that stuff? He doesn't even want me to reach my full magical potential!"

"Ah, but that was a problem that he only realised after you second year," Salazar said, a triumphant glint in his eyes. "When you found Godric's sword, and…defeated my basilisk, he remembered things that he had overlooked. It interfered with his plans. Why, he wanted to build a saviour, but he had to do it without you realising your full potential." Salazar smiled strangely. "At the next possible chance, he placed a restriction spell over your wand."

"A WHAT?" Harry shouted, furious. Salazar merely continued to smile.

"A spell that acts to dissipate a substantial amount of your magic. Of course, you were still incredibly powerful, so it simply brought you down to the level of a slightly above average wizard," said the Founder thoughtfully. "Of course, I doubt that he was planning for your encounter with Voldemort. Priori Incantatem served to disrupt the spell. The moment it broke, you were contained in a web of light, and you rose from the ground. However, when you lay asleep in the Hospital Wing, he got his chance, and the memories after that show that your wand remained restricted."

"That…that _bastard_!" Harry seethed. "I could have fucking _died_ in that duel because of it!"

"Of course," Salazar said calmly. "But when you die, he dies with you."

Harry suddenly went very pale. "So that's how he's going to do it," he said, instantly sober. "He's going to send me untrained and vulnerable onto the battlefield, and when I'm killed, he'll die too."

"Think on it little one," said Salazar softly, resting one hand on his shoulder in a parody of comfort. "Remember that these are merely possibilities. It is equally possible that he had no ulterior motive at all, and these are merely a set of coincidences that shine unfavourably upon him. Give it thought and consider whether you want to take that risk, but for now, return to your work. There is still much to do."

---

Hermione surveyed the faces before her and bit her lip. The Room of Requirement had provided a small place with several comfortable beanbags scattered around, and a slightly raised section of floor that now served as a stage for her. The people watching had come from all different houses, and she had painstakingly approached each one. Their guesses had been correct, and each had given a positive response.

"Right," she said, gathering her courage. "We're all here for the same reason: We think that Harry is innocent. He left school to learn how to defend himself against You-Know-Who, and now he's being framed."

"How do we know that You-Know-Who has really returned?" Padma asked, disbelief etched on her face.

Hermione sighed. She should have expected this. "I can't give you any solid proof that will convince you. But ask yourselves this: Would a fifteen-year-old boy really fool Albus Dumbledore? Harry isn't good at lying, and even if he was, I doubt it would get past the headmaster."

There was a stretch of silence in which Hermione surveyed the various expressions. Some looked a little more believing, but others remained unconvinced. Suddenly, Cho stood up.

"I believe him," she said hesitantly. "And even if he wasn't back, Harry's right to learn how to defend himself. There are still Dark Wizards out there that want to hurt him. Who's to say they won't follow in You-Know-Who's footsteps?"

Hermione breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief. If Cho was standing up for him, the girl who'd lost her beau in the Third Task, then the others weren't likely to start disagreeing.

"So what do we do now?" Dean called out.

Hermione smiled slightly. "We start learning how to defend ourselves too."

---

Despite the blazing fire, Draco shivered. He knew what was happening. Since the earliest age, he had known what it meant when his father politely ordered him to retreat to his quarters. 'Old friends', he had called them when he was younger. 'Just companions Draco, the old crowd'. It hadn't bothered him before.

These meetings had always had an air of seductive mystery that drew him like a moth to flame. He'd never wilfully disobeyed his father, but he had dawdled in the library when selecting a book long enough to hear their voices, see their faces, know their names. He could remember standing behind the library door, deliberately leaving it open a crack, and simply listening. He'd edged to the side so that he could peer through the gap in the hinges, and felt a thrill of pride go through him when they bowed respectfully to his father.

Occasionally they'd visited by themselves, and when he was old enough he'd been allowed to sit with his father and mother as they talked with their guests. He'd met Peter Pettigrew once, and Avery. After he'd been mauled by that Hippogriff, he'd met MacNair – he'd liked him. They'd talked a good deal about killing the beast.

But now…

Draco buried his nose back in the dusty tome. Tonight, the Dark Lord was in their house, and Draco thought that he could sense the smell of death from here. He had always taken it for granted that he would enter the Dark Lord's service. But then again, he had always imagined that he would continue to reside in the in-between state of maybe, the land between childhood and responsibility. To contemplate _actually_ entering the man's service was daunting, to say the least.

For the first time in his life, he envied Potter and his mudblood friends. They had Dumbledore to hide behind; they could remain innocent and play their little rescue games each year. They wouldn't have to kill. They wouldn't have to torture.

Well, perhaps he didn't envy Potter. After all, he had overheard some of their plans for the boy. He had the whole world out for him now.

Wincing, he forced himself to use his arm to turn the page. It was out of the sling now, and the Soul Metal was growing back at an alarming rate. His face had already healed, but he still looked wrong with splashes of molten silver and bronze over his cheeks.

He was reading a book on Greek mythology. He'd found it odd that his father had such a thing on his desk, and for once he had given in to the urge to look at it. The book was one of many on the subject that were stacked about the study, and it was unlikely that his father would notice it missing for some time. Besides, he was sure he could slip his way out of trouble with the right words.

Flipping another page, his eyes came to rest on a small sheet of parchment tucked into the tome. It had his father's elegant looped hand on it, but it appeared to have been written in a hurry. Frowning, he picked it up, reading the scribbled words.

'_Medusa's Seal_'

Shrugging and putting it to the side, he began to read the page below, noting that it was one of the myths about Medusa herself.

'_Medusa was the most powerful of three Gorgons, the others being Stheno, and Euryale. Unlike her sisters, Medusa was a beautiful mortal woman cursed for defiling the temple of Athene. Her hair became snakes, and her gaze could kill._

_However, she saw her mortality as a curse, for she could not remain with her sisters. Upon her death, when the hero Perseus beheaded her, several of the snakes in her hair fell loose. As Perseus travelled, so did they escape and scatter across the world. They grew large, and took on their creator Medusa's killing gaze, emptying villages and scattering armies. They were named the Basiliskos, the king of serpents._

Her sisters grieved for her death, and they contrived to make her remains eternal. They cut open her belly and removed her unborn offspring, Pegasus and Chrysaor, who carried her body from the cave and into the sunlight. Helios was said to take pity on her plight, and made her body a disk as bright and golden as the sun itself.'

---

**Notes:** Ah, Salazar's being cruel and disabusing Harry's preconceptions about Dumbledore's goodness. The power of suggestion really can go far. Next chapter should be up in three to four days.


	47. A Marking

---

**A Marking**

---

Light dappled the forest floor, casting gentle shadows over the humans travelling below the canopy. Hestia wove gently through the trees, wand out, making as little noise as she could. It didn't take long to come upon the cottage. The building stood just as it had when she had last seen it, dilapidated and overgrown with the forest plants, but unlike her last visit, she paused cautiously on the fringe of the clearing.

"Anything?" she whispered to the man beside her.

Moody's eye swirled up and down, whizzing around in an almost sickening fashion within its socket. Finally he shook his head and muttered a gruff 'no'.

"Come on then old man," Hestia replied, stifling a chuckle at the glare he sent to her.

The three figures moved slowly towards the door, which Hestia assiduously avoided touching, preferring instead to press her nose near against the dusty glass and peer into the interior.

"Get away from there!" Alastor growled, and she shot him an apologetic smile. "It's clean," the old Auror muttered, and cast an unlocking charm on the door. It didn't swing open as expected, so he gave it a rough kick.

A moment later he was flying through the air, landing with a thump behind them. Bill only just managed to dodge out the way.

"I told you, didn't I?" Hestia laughed, giving him a hand up. He just glared at her.

In the mean time, Bill was inspecting the cottage with renewed interest. He alone had spotted the flare of light within the room. He cast several detection charms, but frowned as they came up blank. _Odd,_ he mused. Trying again, he cast one over the whole house, raising his brows as that too returned blank. Apparently there was nothing magical nearby at all. Conjuring himself a stick, he gave the door a tentative prod. It refused to move, but he wasn't thrown back as Alastor had been. Emboldened, he flicked the door open with his wand, and passed out as a blast of power sent him flying over the other two Aurors' heads.

Despite himself, Moody burst out laughing, limping towards Bill to revive him. When the redhead awoke, he looked blearily around, and then scowled at the still chuckling Auror.

"Up you get boy, seems like we've all been hit now," he said hauling Bill to his feet.

"There's a problem though," Bill murmured, rubbing the back of his head with evident pain. "All my tests tell me there's nothing magical in there. Nothing at all."

Hestia frowned. "That's not right then. Should be at least some magic left over. It was our house for a good set of years."

"She's right," Moody growled, eyeing the building again, magical eye whirring from side to side. "But it looks like you're both right. There isn't one drop in that hut."

Hestia glanced at it worriedly. "We need to tell Albus," she said slowly. "Because those surges were definitely magic, and they'll show on the Ministry survey."

"Damn right they will," Moody replied. "I'll deal with the Ministry when we get to it. Come on, we're heading back."

The two popped out of sight and Bill took one last look at the cottage before doing the same.

---

The Potions Lab was in use again. Harry had been brewing feverishly ever since he had finished his meal. All that he had heard when he was in his mind was weighing heavily on him, and for the first time he understood why their irritable Potions Master spent so much of his time bent over a cauldron. It was calming in the same way cooking could be for him when you knew exactly how to make the particular recipe. Granted, when he was cooking for the Dursleys there was precious little time for calm, but he had occasionally lost himself in the process.

He had made another batch of the Maximo Healing Potion since it hadn't been as hard as he had expected, and he was currently working on a large cauldron full of Pepper-Up potion along with a simmering batch of Calming Draught.

He'd called Dobby up to fetch some books for him from the library, since the books Salazar had, whilst useful, were about a thousand years out of date. He was currently working from a very battered copy of 'Advanced Potion Making'. Occasionally he would come across some scribbled notes in the margin, and the main text itself was heavily annotated with much of it crossed out and re-written above in tiny lettering. All in all, it made it very difficult to read, but there were some helpful notes to improve the brew dotted here and there.

Adding the crushed beetle legs, he gave the Calming Draught a final stir and started preparing another cauldron, crossing off the potions on his list. The Calming Draught could simmer for a few minutes, and then it would need to be bottled. The Pepper-Up potion had to be left to cool before bottled, or the book warned that it would burn the user rather than invigorate them.

Sighing, Harry set out stands for the flame and headed to the shelf where the cauldrons rested. Selecting two reasonably sized ones he levitated them over to his working area. He then summoned several vials from the storage room and began to bottle the Calming Draught, sealing each with a little twist of magic.

Then, he began again. Flipping to the next page in the 'Standard Book of Healing Potions', he read down the list of ingredients and copied them onto a sheet. Calling Dobby, he asked him to retrieve them from the Student stores, and checked the consistency of the Pepper-Up potion whilst he waited.

He mentally catalogued what he thought he would need once he left. He had a variety of healing potions at the ready, and he was sure he could get some of the Weasley twin's patented Bruise Salve off of them.

_If they don't believe the rumours of course,_ said and insidious little voice in his head.

"They won't…" he murmured, then shook the thoughts from his head. He'd deal with that when he got there.

When Dobby returned with excitable bows and his ingredients he immediately set about brewing the Burn Salve, which was a simple potion, and set the ingredients for the Sleeping Draught aside. First the base product, a few stirs, then add the crushed root, let it boil, add the roughly chopped leaves, and finally the thickener. Forty minutes later, he lowered the heat and let it simmer. It would need to stay like that for the better part of the day too.

Flipping to the right page in his copy of 'Advanced Potion Making', he examined the instructions for the Sleeping Draught. Squinting at the various crossings out, he summoned the pestle and mortar and began to grind the Moonstone. He filled the cauldron and cast a spell to lower it to a freezing cold, and gentling sprinkled the powder into the solution. As the tiny grains of Moonstone hit the surface they glinted and glittered, until the entire thing was shining like a canvas of stars.

Frowning, he followed the scribbled instructions to mash the Valerian root with the side of a copper knife, tipping it into the cauldron. It instantly turned a pearly white.

He continued on for some time, attending the annotated instructions rather than trying to decipher those that were written beneath the crossings out. Turning the temperature up to a blazing heat, he added the Salamander eyes and then promptly lowered it to that same freezing cold.

All he had to do now was bottle the thing.

As it rapidly cooled, it turned to a velvety black, interspersed with the same moonstone crystals he had added in the beginning.

Looking at the potions laid out before him Harry felt an immense sense of satisfaction. There was just something so nice about having a _product_ at the end of the process.

Summoning the maps Dobby had left, he looked again at the sites he had plotted for his small bases. He needed a plan of what he was going to do once he left Salazar's rooms. Well, firstly he would need to see his friends and assure them that he was all right. Then he would need to visit the headmaster for a long overdue heart to heart chat. And then…

He was going to need to visit Snape.

Merlin was he dreading that conversation. It's not like he could just waltz up and say: 'Hey Snape, everyone thinks I'm out killing people and am completely untrustworthy – on an unrelated note, you wouldn't consider teaching me some Dark Arts would you?' No. It was going to be difficult. He was going to need leverage on the man. He was going to need something to _exchange_.

With a snap of his fingers he sat up. Feeling for the Bond, he followed it through and appeared in the study below, Fading into sight. Locking his eyes on the ghost he asked,

"Salazar, how much are Basilisk parts worth?"

It would have been difficult for the Founder to look more repulsed. "You are thinking of cutting up the Basilisk," he stated.

Harry blinked at slight brush of regret coming through their link. "It _is_ dead, and you did say that I needed a current Dark Arts tutor," he pointed out.

Salazar grimaced. "It would be as if I were asking you to dissect the corpse of your little redheaded friend," he said with a curling lip.

Harry instantly realised his mistake. "Merlin, I'm sorry Salazar. But there's no point in letting it go to waste is there? It's…it's a shame to let it just rot down there."

Salazar sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was most unlike him. "Basilisk corpses do not rot for many years, due to the magic stored in their bodies. You will find her body in the same state that you left her."

Harry winced, but took that for the acceptance it was.

"Right," he mumbled, slumping on to the sofa, thinking over his plans. "When I leave," he began quietly, "will you be able to come with me?"

"Of course," Salazar replied smoothly, having regained some of his usual composure. "A ghost is bound to this plane by a purpose, and for now my purpose is you."

Harry looked at him curiously. "So when you don't have a purpose anymore you'll effectively 'die'?" he asked.

Salazar regarded him with an unreadable expression. "Perhaps, when the time comes."

Harry sighed and raised a hand to rub his temples, dropping the subject. "There's so much to do," he murmured.

"Indeed," replied Salazar. "And we will soon depart. You will have tomorrow to pack what you need, and the following day to resolve you business with the castle. Speak to _Dumbledore_," he spat, "and bring the Potions Master to your side. You must find Godric's portrait before you leave, and cement the control of the castle. You will also retrieve the…items that I stored in places of safe-keeping, as per our agreement after you have set in motion the building of your bases and your island."

"We're leaving so soon?" Harry asked a little taken aback.

"Yes. To expand and learn, you must experience more of the world than these rooms," he said with the slightest trace of humour, sweeping an arm around the expansive chambers. "There is only so much you can gain from books."

There was a long moment of comfortable silence between them, where Harry sat wrapped within his own thoughts. There was so much weighing on his shoulders already, and he knew that the load was only going to get heavier. Dumbledore's potential manipulations had filled him with anger and a sense of betrayal, but the stirring of his childhood memories had created within him a hard, cold fury. Of all the people in the world, the family he had been left with should have been the ones to show him love, or hell, even just simple care. The rest of the world had no obligation, no reason to like him of love him, but somehow he had been left with the one set of people who despite expectations hated him in every way. That cut him deeper than any wound he had received afterwards, emotional or physical.

He had been starved for beyond a week. He had been beaten. He had been deprived water, to either drink or wash himself with. He had spent the first _eleven years_ of his life locked in a cupboard and told that he was hated, told that he was unlovable. For the first time in his life, Harry recognised the bud of stubborn fury that had been born in him. The thing that gave him the strength to live through it all, day after day, night after long night. It had allowed himself to draw back behind a harsh shell, to not place trust in carers deeply. He had grown inured to the emotional torment thrown at him daily, until he found it difficult to remember a time when it had hurt him deep enough to wound. The insults merely kept the cut from healing. He had been left there…and for what?

However he looked at it, it all traced back to Dumbledore. _He_ had left him there, with all of his political might and wizardly power, he had left him to rot uncared for and unobserved. What had he said? It was to give him a childhood, life away from the pressures of fame. Instead, he had subjected him to the loss of childhood, and only increased the confusion of fame. If he had been a different person, he might have craved it, enjoyed it even. Instead, he was bemused and repulsed by the Wizarding world's treatment of him. Their fickle friendships and platitudes, and now the framing of their saviour in the newspapers for all the world to see and judge by. Guilty until proven innocent. But, he considered, perhaps Dumbledore hadn't wanted him to lap up fame like Lockhart.

But what could he do to cure society's ills? He could go through the lengthy process of reordering the government, Voldemort, the whole set of morals ingrained in society, or just ignore them.

'_Give them just enough rope to hang themselves on,_' said Salazar softly inside his head.

'_I'm starting to think that even if Voldemort is a completely evil bastard, he has some impressive aims to achieve,_' Harry replied dryly.

'_As do you, my little one, as do you. Sleep – you will need it.'_

---

Cool air pressed against him, and the cup fell to the ground. He glanced to his side, subtly reassured to see Cedric standing there. With the two of them, there was a better chance of survival. A better chance of protection.

That was shattered in a flash of green light, and he looked at the older boy's still face with horror, taking in the look of slight surprise etched into the features, hidden in the eyes and the furrow of the brows, frozen to a perpetual state in death. The graveyard was dark, and he was alone in his predicament.

A high laugh made him whirl around, the dream morphing and becoming real, and he found himself looking down on a familiar blonde head. It took him a moment to distinguish the man kneeling at his feet from the boy who had once attended classes with him, but once he had kissed the hem of his robes the elder Malfoy stepped back, and the younger stepped forwards across the stone floor.

Harry felt an unfamiliar thrill of triumph and satisfaction run through him to see the boy, so innocently bedecked in white, kneel and kiss his robes, and then look up to meet his eyes, baring his left arm.

He delved deftly into the world beyond those steely grey orbs, so much more expressive than his father's own, battle-hardened as they were. The thoughts beyond showed a curious emptiness. He saw fear, and beyond that he saw doubt. He felt the hope the boy had experienced when seeing the Living Metal in his arm growing back, and the tearing anguish he had known as it was cut out. Pressing deeper, he found the dead space that had once held hatred for his school-day nemesis, and Voldemort's eyes narrowed in anger as he saw those naïve green eyes staring back at him from within his newest recruit. Green eyes, eyes of death, Avada Kedavra eyes.

Snapping out of the boy's mind, he watched with a cruel smirk as he slumped to the floor and attempted to stifle a retch. There was no reason to treat his servants lightly when extracting information, and he invaded as he would on a battlefield – brutally, ruthlessly. The boy was doubtful, he could see that, but careful guidance would rekindle his faithfulness and more.

"Your arm," he felt leave his lips, soft and beguiling.

Swallowing, the boy lifted his arm once more, and he watched with fascination as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, despite the cold. Drawing his wand, he began the incantation for the Marking, and reaching a crucial point, he pressed the tip of his wand to the pale flesh before him.

Like all others, the boy screamed.

But unlike all others, there was an echo of that scream hundreds of miles away, an echo that resounded faintly around the inside of his own head. Voldemort's eyes snapped up and narrowed.

In the bowels of Hogwarts, Harry Potter awoke.

---

The scream died on his lips as he gasped, pulling heaving breaths into his lungs, his fingers scrabbling at his left arm where he was sure a glowing poker had been pressed. Snapping his fingers, the room lit up, and Harry stared down at the expanse of pale, unblemished skin and felt his furiously beating heart begin to slow.

Just a dream…that's all. But he'd had dreams like that before, during his fifth year with the Goblet of Fire. Dreams about Voldemort. And now, he'd witnessed Draco's marking. It was hard to believe that his long-time nemesis had finally entered Voldemort's service. He'd always assumed it would happen, but he'd never comprehended that it really would. The Malfoy heir had always been destined for it, not actually _meant_ to be in it.

Grumbling, he looked at his watch to see that it was bordering on 5 AM. He knew from experience that he wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight. Besides, he could at least use the time constructively and pack his things away.

He had grown quite accustomed to the rooms he had inhabited, although it remained largely unchanged by his living there. He simply wasn't used to affecting the space around him, given that anything he'd changed in the Dursleys house had given him a bout of punishment and reprimanding. Even at school he hadn't personalised the space around his bed as the other boys had. Why do so? He would be leaving at the end of the year anyway, and they weren't allowed to leave posters up or their things there.

Shrugging off the sheets that were bunched around him, heavy with sweat and twisted from his nightmare, he pulled himself out of bed and yawned. He unconsciously used his magic to warm the room around him and remove the unpleasant sensation of the cold stone beneath his feet before heading into the bathroom to wash.

As the hot water rolled down his skin, he pondered the recent events. He doubted that he would have much to do during the day, and suspected that he might even venture out of the castle before the evening. It would certainly be helpful if he got a chance to check out a few of the problems plaguing him, and possibly discover the exact whereabouts of Godric's portrait. He also wanted to do a scan of the castle and grounds first, to ascertain the moods of the staff and student body. He certainly wasn't above a little eavesdropping to get a clearer picture of their attitudes. Besides, he might even pick up something interesting.

There was one man out of all the rest that he was particularly keen to survey. It was clear that the headmaster had kept many things from him, and before he faced the man up front it would be good to have a good look through his personal belongings and track a bit of his daily life. He was no longer completely taken in by the eccentric grandfather persona, and suspected that there was far more to the man than what appeared on the surface. Technically the headmaster also owed him a life debt for deigning to rescue him from being completely magically drained, but he would hold that back as a trump card.

Harry was inordinately thankful that he had brushed up on his magical disguises, and could use many proficiently. The Chameleon Skin was his favourite, but there were undeniably good uses for the sensory deception spells, and with the use of his expanded magical senses he was able to pick up stray thoughts and magical presence along with other tactile information.

_At least,_ he thought morbidly, _if I ever lose my sight or any other sense it won't be as crippling._

Rummaging around in his trunk, he pulled out a pair of plain black trousers and shirt and began to dress. It was only when he was debating on which robes to wear did he remember the Darkshine Cloaks that he had bought all that time ago. Pulling out one set, he couldn't help but smile in pleasure at the tinges of colour that appeared when the fabric moved.

Donning them, a memory was tugged from his mind, and he recalled Helena Sprite - the shop owner – and her comments on their uses.

_Cloaks good for Shadow Magic, hmm?_ he thought, and made a mental note to ask Salazar about it later.

Muttering about being woken up at ungodly hours by mad Dark Lords, Harry gestured absently with his hands, watching with interest as his personal belongings rearranged themselves within the magically enlarged trunk. Now that he was used to it, manipulating the raw magic at his fingertips was as easy as breathing. Well, sort of. He still had difficulties with some aspects, but he was learning more by the day.

"Of course, you always think that when you finally crack something after hours of trying," Harry mumbled under his breath. He'd even managed to solve the Wandless puzzle, which was promptly fitting itself back into its wooden box and slipping into his trunk.

He watched idly as the books scattered about the room piled themselves up via subject and packed themselves into the trunk, shifting around the other objects. His clothes ironed themselves out and folded into piles. His potion ingredients stacked up and tucked themselves into a corner.

Leaving the magic to do its work, Harry Faded up to the Potions Lab and gathered those he'd brewed, along with his 'borrowed' library books. He'd made sure to return any rare volumes, and he'd make sure to replace those he could when he made his rounds to Diagon Alley and the other magical places. Eyeing the maps, he rolled them up and added them to his levitating pile of potions and books. He would ask Salazar about borrowing some of his cauldrons and the like when the ghost made an appearance.

Fading back down to his room with the bundle of items in his arms, he watched with satisfaction as they lined up in neat rows across the top of his trunk.

Sighing, he fell back on his bed and did a quick review of his mental defences. Salazar had been rather neutral when remarking on their quality, which left Harry feeling more than a little daunted at the idea of facing Dumbledore, who the Founder had mentioned was a more than proficient Leglimens.

Awhile later, when he was finishing his breakfast, the ghost strolled leisurely through the wall.

"Morning," Harry greeted through a mouthful of toast. "Any news?"

"I believe that there has been another attack," Salazar replied, taking the seat opposite him. "And you are speaking with your mouth full," he added.

Harry scowled at him, but made sure to swallow his food before continuing. "Will I be able to take some of your stuff with me?" he asked.

"Of course little one. There is no reason for it to remain unused," said Salazar idly.

Harry nodded, and finishing the last of his toast he headed towards the bookshelf. From the shelves that were a little friendlier towards him, he managed to lift off the Potions book he had been using, and the volume on disguise and deception. Salazar watched in amusement as he also coaxed away several books on the Dark Arts, Runes, Wards and Rituals.

Crossing the walkway to the study, he located two more maps of the British Isles, and after much persuasion, the carved snakes on the bookshelves relinquished a few books on construction and the raising of islands.

Descending to the room containing the Spell Fastenings, with Salazar's help he picked out many of the stones that would be useful – invisibility, silence, a good deal of Cauldron gems, several that confounded the senses, and a few tracking pebbles.

With the Experimentation Room next on the list, he mainly ignored the contents and left them how the were, but removed a few more books before crossing to the Potions Lab. He collected much more from this room, shrinking several cauldrons and large numbers of glass containers. A few of the rarer ingredients were taken too, along with some of the more complex measuring equipment.

Finally, he went up to the kitchen. Packing several pans away, his thoughts turned to contemplate the cupboard containing the vast array of knives.

"You would be unable to use them, little one," Salazar said from where he stood beside him, his voice somewhat taunting.

"Why?" Harry frowned, reaching out with his magic and feeling for them. What he found was surprising. Each blade seemed to have a tint of the ghost in it. "Blood Magic?" he guessed.

Salazar looked at him with a smile. "A mixture. They have a small hint of Soul magic in them too. And that is why you will be visiting an acclaimed weapon smith when we leave. You will need your own."

---

**Notes:** Filler, I know. Sorry about this chapter, I'll try and post another, less dull one shortly.


	48. A Forest of the Mind

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**A Forest of the Mind**

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The night was close around him, a cool breeze blowing through the corridors, and Harry breathed a sigh of satisfaction. He hadn't even noticed how much he had missed the fresh air until he returned to it. The atmosphere was warm still, having heated back up after the Chill, and it kissed his skin as he walked. He could smell spring on the breeze, and the lingering scent of sun drenched stone.

He was currently wearing his Chameleon Skin, invisible to the naked eye. In fact, all he needed to do now was find a method to escape magical detentions such as those of his expanded senses, and he would be free to move around as he liked. As it was, he was actively repressing his magic, for it was as excited and exuberant as he was to be out.

Salazar had restored his memories of the magical world, as they would be parting from the seclusion of his chambers and out into a populace that would think him strange if he didn't know any spells. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. When his knowledge had been returned, he had been astounded. He could do what everyone he knew had considered impossible. His attachment to his raw power was strong and it felt _right_, in the same way that choosing his first wand had been right. On that note, the Founder had refused to produce his wand, telling him that he would provide it when it was needed.

Then there was his ability to Fade. It wasn't anything like Apparition! He shouldn't even be able to do so in Hogwarts.

But Salazar, mocking and amused as ever had explained to him. The Hogwarts Anti-Apparition Wards had been installed after the Founder's time, when the technique for Apparition became relatively safe, and far less hit and miss. Once it was established, the current Ministry had taken measures to crack down on alternate methods of transport, one of which was the Fade. By placing heavy punishments on the other methods they had slowly died out, especially since the common witch or wizard had no education in writing or reading, and the necessary texts were few and far between.

Apparition had been a good compromise as a middle distance transport. Fading, the ghost explained, was not good for long or medium distance travel in the slightest, but worked very well during fights or moving shorter distances. It appeared that Harry still had much to learn in the way of magical transportation, but it did mean that he was able to Fade within Hogwarts, because the Wards were unable to sense that level of movement.

Grinning, Harry called out to the castle in greeting and was pleased at the warm response he received. _It_ had known that Harry was still within its walls. With his magical senses at work, he was simply stumped by the information he was receiving. Salazar's rooms had been steeped in magic, but out here the very walls were soaked through and through in it from the daily excess given off by its inhabitants. He could sense the unique magical feel of each portrait, and as he looked further he found that he could identify the familiar feeling of the painter once he encountered several by the same person.

_Salazar,_ he thought curiously, _did you paint the other Founder's portraits?_

There came a resounding chuckle in his head through their link. _Of course. They would allow no other the privilege. Why do you ask little one? Suspicious?_

Harry scowled, but his eyes were glittering with mirth. _You already know why I'm asking. It would be just like you to plant something in the painting to keep tabs on them._

_You know me too well little one,_ came the reply.

Harry snorted. _Well, it's what you're like. Always making sure you have one up on the next person._

Salazar laughed, the sound eerie.

_Is there a way for you to find Godric through it?_ Harry queried, and he could feel the Founder's thoughtful consideration.

_Perhaps_, he said. _I will direct Salazar to attempt it._

Harry sent back a mental chuckle at the peculiar way in which the man referred to his portrait by name.

Reaching his destination, Harry softly entered the library, moving his magic to conceal any noise he made. Weaving expertly through the bookcases, he headed towards his favourite corner, the sheltered area hidden in the stacks of books. Approaching it, he noticed a strangely familiar feeling, and was surprised to note that there was magic warding the entrance. Blinking, he stepped up to examine it.

The signature was old, but not that old. Harry examined it, running his own magic through it to determine its nature. It was inexpertly made, but worked effectively. To his surprise it appeared to be tuned to keep the place a secret, which whilst that explained why Madame Pince had never checked it, didn't explain why Harry had found it. Shrugging, Harry threaded his own magic into it, strengthening the old ward and 'keying' it.

With it set so that only his friends would be able to find it, he entered and conjured a piece of parchment with a wave of his hand. He couldn't help but grin. There were definitely benefits to being able to do powerful wandless magic.

Creating a quill from the palm of his hand, he sat down to write a note for his friends. When he was finished, he gave it a quick read over and added a twist of magic that would make it only show up for those particular people.

'_Dear friends,_

_I visited this place, and it's warded against anyone but you. If you want to add someone…well, I'm sure Hermione will find a way. If not, then just ask Ginny to find me. She'll know what you mean._

_I hope you haven't been paying attention to all that Prophet rubbish. I don't think I'll exactly be coming back to school, but I'll try and visit every now and again._

_Take care,_

Harry' 

Satisfied with the note, he moved a patch of empty floor and sketched a simple rune into the air. Although he wasn't exactly skilled in the subject, he had learnt a good deal more than he'd known before. A fiery symbol appeared in the air, the one Harry knew to mean 'Significance'. His aim was to place markers all around the school to make 'Fading Points' for him to move to. It would make it easier to move about the building, especially considering the castle's propensity to shift. The rune gave him a way to keep track of key places.

Under Salazar's guidance he had created a method of keying the rune to a small sphere of recognition that would tell him if someone were within the designated space when he concentrated on it. He had yet to find a way to tell if they were friend or foe, but he had put it on his 'to do' list.

Swiping his hand through the burning symbol, he cut it from his sight. It still remained, but unnoticeable.

Satisfied that he could feel the slight presence in his mind, he headed to his next location: The Upper Sector.

He had a brief chat with Helga, who was somewhat relieved to see him safe after all this time. Apparently Salazar had been very quiet and evasive about him, which made Harry slightly suspicious. Frowning, he sketched a rune in the air before her portrait, but his frown was dissipated when she expressed how impressed she was with his learning.

Bidding her goodbye and leaving with the promise to pay her another visit soon, he moved around the Upper Sector to leave two more runes: one in an old and abandoned classroom that he warded and hid, and another in a secluded corner of the Senior Library.

With that he started a general pattern of adding two on each floor of the castle, occasionally adding an extra if there was an area of particular interest. He left one in the corridor that contained the Room of Requirement, as he was unsure as to what would happen if he Faded into the room when someone was using it. He preferred not to think about that.

He put one Fade Point near the Slytherin common room, another near the main potions lab, and yet another in the entry of Rowena's rooms. The Founder didn't even say a word when he dropped the Chameleon Skin, the portrait simply swung open and Harry was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug.

"Hey Gin," he murmured into her hair, wrapping his arms around her thin form. They remained like that for several minutes, and Harry was struck by how much he had missed her. There was nothing like having friends.

"I missed you," she said, releasing him. Harry smiled.

"Me too."

"So coz," she said with a faint smile, "sit down and tell me all about what you've been doing."

Harry followed her up the spiral staircase and headed towards the familiar sofa, summoning Winky for coffee and food. It took him a long time to go through all he had done and learnt, although there were certain subjects he would have to switch quickly away from because Salazar's voice in his mind warned him against it. Harry supposed that there were things he didn't want Rowena to know about.

However, he did spend a long time on his plans for the caves and island with Ginny, who was rather impressed.

"You've got big ideas," she noted. Harry shrugged.

"I have to," he said. "We won't stand a chance against Voldemort otherwise."

Ginny chuckled humourlessly. "Yes, the Order's only got Sirius' house. I mean, I'm sure it's nice and safe, but it's not much of a base is it? Mum's always going on about how messy it always is…"

Harry felt a small pang in his chest at the mention of Sirius. His godfather, and he'd never even seen where he lived. He'd have to pay him and Moony a visit soon.

"How have you been doing?" Harry asked, relaxing back into his seat. Ginny smiled a little and tapped the side of her nose.

"It's a secret," she whispered, but laughed as she saw Harry's face fall. "I've been learning Occlumency, although it's difficult when you don't have a ghost to help. Rowena's been really good though," she said. "And I've got so much better at Potions. Snape would hardly believe it now."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I doubt he'd believe either of us have got any better. I mean, I'm reasonably good now, but I'm not exactly interested enough to become a master. I just make what I need."

"As long as it works," Ginny agreed with a shrug. "I've been learning some Alchemy too. That was one of Rowena's specialities besides potions. I managed to convert a base metal to fools gold, which is supposed to be quite an achievement," she said with a little scorn. "Huh. Alchemy tends to make me feel foolish. It's just so damn hard."

Harry raised his brows. "Hmm…Potions - maybe. But a subject that's like…advanced potions just seems like shooting myself in the foot," he said. "Muggle expression," he added at Ginny's confused look.

"Like hexing yourself in the foot?" she guessed.

"Yeah, that would be the Wizarding parallel," Harry agreed. Ginny's eyes brightened suddenly, and she leant forwards.

"I found out my Animagus form," she said with excitement shining in her face.

"What is it?" Harry said, sitting up in interest.

"Guess," she teased.

Harry looked at her contemplatively. "A red squirrel," he deadpanned.

"No!" she exclaimed, grinning. "Guess again."

"It's not going to be a lion," he thought out loud, "you're more subtle than that. A fox?"

Ginny's face fell a little. "Damn, how'd you get it so fast?"

Harry grinned and tapped his temples. "I'm just intuitive like that," he joked. "It's great, isn't it? Knowing that you'll be flying or running soon," he trailed off dreamily.

"Yeah," she said, obviously reliving the revelation. "We could go out running together. Explore the Forbidden forest and stuff."

Harry smiled and stretched lazily out on the sofa, arms behind his head. "It's going to be great."

They remained in companionable silence for a long moment, before Harry turned his head to the side to meet Ginny's eyes. "I meant to ask you before, but I have an idea that might help you with Occlumency. I need to practice Leglimency, but I could test your barriers and help you build more, if you'd like."

Ginny paused and looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment. "All right, but you need to let me practice Leglimency on you too. And no peeking at things you shouldn't!" she said, catching his wicked smile.

"Right," Harry agreed, repressing the urge to do just that. "Give me a moment."

Closing his eyes, he stretched out his magical senses and felt around the room. It was steeped in magic like Salazar's chambers but this was a lighter kind, filled with the haze of stray magic from potions and charms. Narrowing down his senses, he felt for his redheaded friend, finding her a blaze of fiery light and burning life.

He could pick up a great deal more stray thoughts than those Salazar had fed him, and they were practically being screamed at him by comparison. Focusing, he mentally dimmed the 'volume' of what he could hear, and reached out a soft touch to her mind.

Probing the edges, he caught flashes of what it looked like – forested mountains, leafed and lush. The barriers she'd built were good for someone with no active tutelage, but Harry easily side-stepped them, gradually entering her mind. Probing, he could tell that they were solid and well founded – trees interwoven, and thorny vines. Passing them, he was interested to see silvery fruit hanging from some of the trees. Walking up to the nearest one, he tugged the branch down and peered into the swirling depths of the memory.

_She was on the twin's shoulders as they stood on a chair, stretching up to the shelf above to get their magical slingshot. She looked down at the swaying tower of redheads and the unstable chair, and nearly toppled herself. She was reaching closer and closer, and her fingers brushed the wooden edge of the thing._

"Hurry Ginny, I can hear Mum!" Fred hissed at her, and her hand closed over the confiscated toy.

Blinking in surprise, he let the branch spring back up to its previous position. Looking at someone else's memories was so very different from looking at his own. He'd got such a strong reaction from hers, an effect he would only be able to achieve by holding or touching his own.

"Mum caught us after that," came a voice, and he looked round with a smile to see his friend sitting in the lower branches of a spindly tree.

"Trust the twins to get you into trouble," Harry laughed.

"So what do you think?" she asked, hopping down and walking towards him. Harry looked around in wonder.

"It's beautiful Ginny," he said truthfully. "And well ordered. Each species of tree holds a different style of memories right?"

"Yes," she said. "It only made sense really."

Suddenly she smiled and grabbed his hand, tugging him down the wild path. "I want to show you something," she said quietly.

Harry complied, running after her, skipping the rocks and plants. At one point they crossed over a small brook via several smooth stepping-stones. In the distance he could hear the wind and birds singing, and was struck by just how peaceful the place was. The perfect place to retreat from the world to. He was about to start contemplating what it said about him that he chose a set of dangerous and reclusive caves for his own mindscape, but it was cut short.

Before him spread a large clearing, and in the middle stood the tallest oak he had ever seen. It seemed to have been there since the dawn of time, each branch laden with the weight of ages. It was gnarled and twisted, with thick bark and curling limbs, stretching immensely into the sky. Its trunk was easily as broad as the Burrow.

"Come," Ginny said quietly, tugging his hand, and they began to descend the grassy slope to the towering tree. When they neared she let go of his hand and tumbled towards the branches, easily scaling them. From above him, she called for Harry to follow, and with a grin he complied.

He'd never had much chance to climb trees in Privet Drive, nor in Hogwarts considering that the only good tree on the grounds was the Whomping Willow. Still, he clambered onto the massive limbs, following his redheaded friend through the vertical maze of branches. She drew ahead, but she would always stop and wait for him to catch up. In the mean time, Harry simply marvelled at the intensity and vibrancy of her mindscape. She might not have good defences, but her mind was beautiful in its wildness.

He couldn't tell how long he had been climbing for, but the branches were getting thinner, and the canopy was fast approaching. Looking up, he saw that Ginny had disappeared and sped up his climb. A glance down showed a sickening drop that made him break down in a cold sweat, but it was invigorating at the same time. Swinging up onto one of the highest branches, he saw with delight that there was a hollow in the top of the tree, and Ginny was standing on a relatively flattened branch just outside, wide enough for them to sit comfortably abreast.

"Wow Gin, just…" he trailed off, looking through the leafy canopy at the surrounding landscape in wonder.

"I love coming here," she smiled. "And I wanted to show you. Rowena told me everyone has a place that's the centre of their mindscape. A place that's special."

Harry just stared at her in awe. It was quite a privilege to be allowed to see the centre of another's mindscape, as Salazar had explained to him. To be allowed to see somewhere as beautiful as this…

He sat down gently beside her, looking out over the land. "I'll take you to mine, when I can." At her quizzical look, he elaborated. "There's a…a barrier of sorts around mine, and I can't get past it," he said a little sadly.

She gave his hand a squeeze. "You will," she said with certainty. There was another long stretch of silence between them, before she spoke again. "So, how are my defences?"

Harry spoke slowly, formulating his thoughts. "They've got good foundations, and there's a lot you can do with them. Mine are made out of stone, so they're pretty difficult to change, but I think yours will be more flexible. You could make a clear magic barrier founded on the trees and vines that stretches over the top like a bubble, and you could probably make a barrier of roots under the soil too."

Ginny nodded, and Harry eyed the mountains thoughtfully. "You know," he began, "you could always add in a sort of bottomless ravine that ran all the way round. That way it would be really difficult to get into your mind. Defence without building walls," he suggested.

Ginny smiled broadly. "I like that. I'm not so good with walls. I just kind of count on the trees and stuff to move and catch intruders."

"You can do that," Harry said encouragingly. "You can also set traps and things, but I think you should put most of your effort into the ravine and then some guards. I haven't worked out how to make guards yet, but I'm sure that we could figure it out, or Salazar could help," Harry said pensively. "Because you have all this open space, you need things that can survey it. The trees will work at stopping intruders, but its going to be more difficult to defend."

"I know," Ginny agreed, "but guards sound like a good idea."

Harry looked out around him, and then let out a soft laugh. "You know, this would be a great place for a picnic," he smiled.

"Course it would," Ginny replied. "But we'd need more people."

Harry chuckled a little. "Is that even possible? Inviting people for a picnic in your mind. What would you feed them?"

"Memories? Ideas?" Ginny suggested. "Sounds quite good really. It would be a faster way of learning things anyway."

Harry suddenly became thoughtful. "You know, that may just work," he mused. Ginny looked at him with a mixture of surprise and scepticism. "Try it," he said.

Shrugging, Ginny closed her eyes and Harry watched with wonder as a plate of sandwiches and a glass of orange juice appeared. Blinking, she opened her eyes a smile lighting her face at her success.

Reaching for the sandwich, Harry took a tentative bite and started in surprise. It tasted like…rain. He took another bite, and it the feeling got stronger. He caught a flash of a wand swish at the next bite. Finishing the sandwich, he downed the juice and contemplated what he was seeing. Rain…rainy weather, and a flash of wand movement…and then…the rain rolled off him when it fell. Still, the memory seemed incomplete.

"Are you sure you've got everything?" he asked wit a thoughtful frown. Ginny nodded, and then caught herself with a laugh as she realised her mistake.

"The cup and the plate!" she grinned. "You'll have to eat them too!"

Harry eyed them before chuckling himself. "Go on, change them into something edible," he told her. With a wave of her hand they morphed into a biscuits, which Harry promptly swallowed.

"You're standing in the rain," he said slowly, mulling over the scene, "somewhere near the Burrow?" he asked, and Ginny nodded. "And you're doing a twirl, then swish of the wand, and the rain is stopped. The rain repelling charm?"

"Yep," she said. "Now you try."

"Do you think I can?" he asked with a frown. She shrugged.

"Maybe. It won't hurt to try."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He thought of the memory of Fading, the feeling, the idea, and tried to mentally tug it into her mind. It was difficult, and he could see pieces slipping free, making him scurry to catch them and pull them back together. With a great effort he managed to get most of the memory into her mindscape, although he was sure that there were big pieces missing. Examining it, he noted the obvious holes before transforming what was there into humbugs.

Opening his eyes, he grinned to see a small pile of the sweets sitting on the branch between them.

"Hold on," he said, "I'll get the bits I missed."

Focusing again, he focused on the pieces and found them lingering on the outskirts of her mind, over the Void. Getting a firmer hold on them, he pulled them as hard as he could, irritated at the feeling of the pieces still slipping in his grip. With a final effort he transformed them and added them to the pile, aware that the memory was patched at best. Still, it was his first try.

When Ginny had finished eating them, she sat back, leaning against the trunk of the tree in thought.

"You can what…Fade in Hogwarts?" she asked, pronouncing the name tentatively.

"Yep. I set up some Fade Points before I came to see you. If you learn, you can move around the school," Harry told her. She nodded contemplatively and continued exploring the memory.

"Like Apparition, but you fade out instead of pop…good for short distances…how… oh, Hogwarts Anti-Apparition Wards allow it because it's too subtle to register with them?" she asked with a frown, which quickly transformed into a wicked grin at Harry's nod. "Great! You've probably beaten the Twins in devious ways to prank."

Harry mirrored her expression. "I'm not sure about the laws though, so don't start doing it in front of anybody but friends."

"Course," she scoffed, before getting to her feet. "Now, help me with this ravine."

The ravine was not as difficult to make as Harry had suspected. The land seemed to respond to Ginny with ease, and sunk or rose as she willed it. It didn't take long to surround a third of the mindscape, and Harry helped her with the various methods of weaving magic into the mix.

She added one that would let tendrils of shadow snare people who came by and pull them into the drop, and Harry helped her make nets that would selectively trap them, rather than just dropping them into the bottomless blackness.

The difficult part of the ravine was keying it so that it would allow friends to pass and not swallow and trap them as it did enemies. She and Harry spent a good deal more time trying to key it than actually creating the drop, but in the end a bridge would appear to a friend and only to a friend. If the visitor hadn't been there before, then they would have to be keyed in by Ginny herself.

When Harry finally left her mind, they found that a good deal of hours had passed. Summoning Dobby, they ordered a meal, and Harry requested one of the Wizarding drinks that Salazar had introduced him to.

"I've never heard of that one," Ginny said, swallowing her food. Harry grinned.

"Salazar," he told her with a knowing smile.

She frowned. "Where is he?"

Harry shrugged, but sent a mental query to his mentor.

_In a conversation with Helga in the flesh, as it were,_ came the dry response.

_Salazar,_ Harry said blandly, _you're dead._

_Oh, very good little one, I commend your observational skills_, the Founder sent back, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

_Fine, fine,_ Harry said with amusement, _I get the picture. I'll leave you to your conversation._

"He's talking to Helga," Harry relayed to Ginny, before getting back onto topic. "I think you can do the rest of the ravine easily," he said, taking a bite of his food.

"I suspect so too," she agreed. "The 'Memory Eating' is interesting though. I get the feeling it's one of those things that isn't meant to be possible again, don't you?"

Harry laughed, "Yeah. But what can we say? We're prodigy children."

"Hardly," said Ginny dryly. "Still, it's a good way to tell each other what we've been doing."

"Hell yeah," Harry said. "We can just sit down, both conjure a picnic for the other, and then it saves all that recounting stuff." His eyes became distant as he thought. "You know, it would certainly be good if my plans work."

"You mean your own personal Order," she said, and Harry shot her a scowl.

"Nothing so silly," he said. "But I need allies, and I want to have people figure stuff out. Just taking a meal of their memories is a far quicker way of getting the whole picture rather than having to have it all recounted."

"I know coz, I was just teasing you," Ginny said waving him away. "Plus you get a whole set of other view points too. People might pick up stuff you've missed."

"That's true," Harry conceded before becoming quiet. "Will you help me Gin? I don't think I'm going to be able to do all this stuff by myself."

"Don't be silly coz. That's what friends are there for. Besides, I want to get a piece of Voldemort too," she said, before leaning across the table. "Now, tell me. When did you get so well mannered?"

Harry laughed at that – he had to. "Well, Salazar has this strange fixation for etiquette…"

---

**Notes:** Sorry if updates become a bit sporadic over the next few weeks – I've just hit Easter holidays, so from now on it's sunshine, drinks and…invigorating hard work? Er, yeah. So I need to finish a ton of work. Thanks for the kind reviews, I'll try and keep the updates regular, although I might be a bit late getting round to replying to all of you. If you don't hear anything back don't think they're not appreciated, they are.


	49. House Elves

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**House Elves**

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Harry lay sprawled on his back on the comfortable red sofa, with Ginny on the other. The meal had been delicious, and had left him pleasantly sleepy. He wondered distantly what the time was.

"Rowena?" he asked, a thought occurring to him as he looked around the room. He turned to the woman in the portrait, a little more wary of her since Salazar's tale.

"Yes?"

"Your furniture…" he said formulating his thoughts. "Well, it's not exactly classic medieval stuff."

"The Wizarding world always had an appreciation for beauty," she said with a smile. "And because I came from a relatively wealthy family too, I like comfort. Wizarding designs were always a bit different to Muggle ones."

"Hmm," Harry hummed in understanding. "Somebody should write a comparison of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds through the ages."

"That would be an interesting venture," Rowena replied.

"You should get Hermione to do it," Ginny added with a giggle. "Knowing her, she'd write a fifty volume series."

Harry laughed fondly. "Yeah, that's our Hermione."

There was a long pause. "Are you going to visit them?" Ginny asked.

"I really should," Harry said. "Plus, they might be prats sometimes, but I've thought about it all, and…I miss them."

"They were forming that group of 'believers' when I left. I wonder how many they've got?" Ginny mused.

"I don't know. I'll ask though," Harry said. "I might get a peek into the girl's dormitories too," he said with an exaggerated leer.

Ginny snorted. "If you want to see Hermione naked."

Harry promptly choked. "Maybe not. Let's see…Lavender, no…she's just…no. Parvati, maybe…Hermione _definitely_ no…Eloise, maybe…and Sarah…no."

"So really, you just want to see Cho naked," Ginny finished.

Harry promptly started spluttering again. "She's pretty but…seeing her previous boyfriend die at the hand of the Dark Lord kind of puts a dampener on any relationship we might have had," he said bitterly.

"I still say you should go for Blaise," Ginny said. Harry blinked and turned to face her in a start, remembering something.

"You know, I forgot to tell you. After we had that conversation about Blaise and then Snape where you were going on about his pearly skin and chiselled features I ran into him and he started having a go at me, and that was all I could think of," he said with a snort. "The problem is that apparently the man's an accomplished Leglimens."

Ginny took one look at him and burst into hysterical laughter. It didn't take long for Harry to join her either. The idea of Snape hearing his least favourite student complimenting his 'entrancing eyes' was just too much.

"Oh Harry," she said in between gasps of air, "that's just too good."

There was another long space of comfortable silence whilst their giggles died down, before Harry spoke again.

"It's your turn to come and visit my mind you know," he reminded her. Ginny laughed and nodded.

"You'll have to figure out how to get me there though, because I haven't a clue."

Harry sent her a wink and closed his eyes. He could feel where she was, the rate of breathing, but he headed towards her mind prodding until he caught a flash of her standing beside the ravine, waving. He sent out a tendril of magic and wrapped it around her before gently drawing her back to his own mind. He waited for a few moments to make sure that she was still breathing and functioning, his own near death experience coming back to him, before retreating to the caves.

Blinking, he looked around to find the redhead examining their surroundings with interest.

"Hmm," she said, cocking her brow. "Introverted and gloomy. I like what you've done with the place."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. We don't all have beautiful sprawling forests in our heads." Passing her, he caught her hand and began walking through the cave-in, laughing mentally when her hand tightened on his own as they were absorbed into the rock.

Emerging from the other side, he let her hand drop and span around throwing his arms out.

"Welcome to the labyrinth," he said with a grin. Gasping, Ginny looked warily back at the cave-in.

"You could have warned me," she said, but her attention was distracted by the black glimmers coming from the rocks. "I like it," she said standing straighter and looking around.

Harry just smiled. Ginny's mindscape had been wild and wonderful, but his felt like coming home. The dripping echoes in the distance, the slight bite of the chill in the air…all perfect. Running a hand along the walls, he beckoned her to follow him, showing her through the maze of tunnels.

She was impressed by the jinxes and traps, and particularly taken by the Oubliettes. It was the Void that left her silent though. Every time Harry caught sight of the ghostly bridge spanning the blackness he had to take a breath, and _he_ was used to it.

"A Bond with a ghost," she murmured. "So that's what it looks like."

"Welcome to the Void," he replied staring at where the bridge began to fade to silver and the blackness came became visible. "This way lies madness."

Turning back to the tunnels, Ginny frowned. "This reminds me of…" she trailed off and her expression became thoughtful. "Somewhere. I just can't put my finger on it."

Harry sighed. "Tell me about it. Imagine dreaming of this place every night since the summer. The irritating thing is that in my dreams I _know_ where this is, but when I wake, it all just floats behind the barrier."

"Show me," she asked, and Harry wove through the passages until he came to a dead end where what lay ahead was blocked by the swirling, grey mass. When Harry walked up and rapped his knuckles on it the surface instantly solidified before becoming liquid again. Frowning, Ginny copied the motion, and a similar thing happened.

"I don't like it," she said quietly.

"Why not?" Harry asked. "Besides the obvious, I mean."

She continued to look pensively at the barrier. "Because in my second year, I felt the same symptoms you describe. The knowledge that you knew what was happening as it happened, but instead just these great blank spaces with only hints of ideas in them where there should be memories."

She turned to Harry with a humourless laugh. "If you wake up with blood on your hands, go tell someone."

Harry looked at her carefully before tugging her away. "Come on, let's go."

---

They hadn't spent long in his mind at all. Unlike Ginny's there was little to do in his own mind if they couldn't enter the central chamber. He bade her goodbye after she extracted the promise that he come and visit. He would test her defences when he returned, and she would soon be able to resume her schooling without fear of prying on her thoughts. He just needed to make sure that nosy Headmasters and hateful Potions Masters left her alone.

To his surprise, the light entering the school windows was beginning to brighten. Shaking his head and donning his Chameleon Skin he made his way to the kitchens.

Apparently the house elves were up at all times of day, because the place seemed as busy as it always was. However, when the elves froze and stared towards the door with wide eyes, Harry began to wonder whether this had been such a good idea. If the headmaster had decided that he was to be reeled in, then the combined efforts of 50 house elves would be difficult to escape from. He remembered what had happened to Lucius Malfoy. That was part of the reason that he had always summoned Dobby or Winky to him for food – at least they were friendly to him, as far as he knew.

"Harry Potter sir!" came a familiar squeak, and he blinked in surprise. Dobby moved through the crowd of elves who shook themselves and continued work, studiously avoiding looking in his direction.

Dropping the Chameleon Skin over his head, he spoke. "Hey Dobby. How are you doing?"

Dobby beamed at him and did a little bow. "Dobby is doing very well sir, but…" he trailed off. "But Dobby is wishing the bad people would stop saying such things about the great Harry Potter! Dobby is knowing you is not doing all those things, the castle tells him so and he sees Master Harry sir often, but the others is not believing the house elves sir."

Harry smiled vaguely at him. Dobby was one of the few people he'd had doubts about, given his near fanatical obsession with him. "Thanks Dobby, that means a lot to me." He paused. "How did you know it was me?" he asked in consternation.

Dobby looked hesitantly up at him. "Dobby can feel when a wizard is near sir. Dobby can feel when wizards call too, Master Harry. And Harry Potter sir felt as if he was calling."

Harry blinked, surprised. "Wow," he said blankly, before noticing the way the other elves ignore his gaze completely. "Dobby, why are the other elves ignoring me?"

Dobby looked a little guilty at this. "The headmaster ordered us to take you to him if we see you sir. But we is not wanting to take the great Harry Potter to him, because we know that you has been always in the castle, not doing the things they say you have. So they do not see you sir, and as long as they do not _see_ you, you are not to be brought, Master Harry sir."

"Oh…" Harry said, then smiled. "Thank you," he called out loud enough that they would be able to hear. Then something clicked in his head.

"Dobby, you're still a free elf, aren't you?" he asked slowly. Dobby nodded. "Um…well, feel free to say no, but I'm going to need a lot of help in the near future," he said, "and I was wondering if you'd consider working for me."

If it were possible, Dobby's eyes got even wider. "Harry Potter sir is asking Dobby to work for him?" he whispered. Harry nodded. "Dobby can't think of a better thing than working for Harry Potter sir! Dobby has always dreamed, but never did he imagine that he would actually _serve_ the great Harry Potter!"

"Is that a yes?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Of course Master Harry sir!" the elf cried.

"Um, you'll need to tell me how much you want to be paid and-" Harry cut himself short at the vehement shaking of the elf's head that made his ears flap back and forth wildly.

"Dobby will serve Harry Potter sir! Dobby does not need pay for this great honour."

"If you're sure…" Harry said slowly. Free help was always good, but the house elf had been so pleased with his freedom that it seemed rather a reversal of his personality to refuse payment.

"Dobby is sure sir," he said and then paused, looking hesitant. "House elves are born to serve, sir. If they are not bonded then their magic fades. That is why it is such a disgrace to be free sir, because an elf will do anything to stay alive and serve his master, and to have been so bad that we are freed sir…" he trailed off, ears drooping.

"But you're free," Harry pointed out.

"But the castle is kind Harry Potter sir!" he said. "The castle gives Dobby the magic he needs to survive, but he would not have that if he were free elsewhere."

Harry pondered this. "You know, I can still pay you for your help you know."

Dobby's eyes became very wide. "Dobby could not ask the great Harry Potter to do that sir!"

"I'm offering Dobby, you don't have to ask," Harry pointed out. "Even if you don't want pay, then I'll still provide you with whatever you want. It's your choice."

The elf was already shaking his head again. "Dobby cannot sir. But he is very grateful that his new master is offering him such a thing!"

Harry nodded slowly. "Well, the offer's always open if you change your mind." He paused. "Uh…how do you Bond then?"

"Master puts his hand to Dobby's and Dobby will do the rest Harry Potter sir!" Dobby said happily, before his face fell.

"What is it?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Dobby wants very much to be Harry Potter's elf sir," the house elf said hesitantly, "but he is worried about Winky." His expression became sad. "She is not doing so well sir, and is still very depressed, even after a year."

Harry made a noise of comprehension. "Well, would she like to be Bonded too, do you think?" he asked.

A huge smile came across Dobby's face as he heard this. "Oh Harry Potter is too kind sir! To take not one but _two_ free elves!"

Harry frowned. "Why wasn't she bonded to Dumbledore or something?"

Dobby's face fell a little. "Dobby is not knowing sir. Winky is not speaking of it." Then his face brightened again, which left Harry reflecting that his mood changed like the flick of a light switch. "You is waiting there Harry Potter sir! Dobby will fetch Winky for you!"

Harry watched as he disappeared through the crowd of elves, all either looking elsewhere or closing their eyes as they approached him. Apparently this time his safety was more important than offering him food. He didn't have long to wait before Dobby returned, Winky resting heavily on one arm, still wearing the same blue dress he had seen before, but it held a great many more stains than it had the previous year.

When the stopped in front of him, Winky refused to look at him, instead studying the floor.

"Winky," he began gently, "Dobby told me you were still free."

Tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her dirty face. "Winky is free Harry Potter sir. Winky is ashamed."

"Well," he said, "I'm going to be doing quite a bit of travelling, and I'm going to need a lot of help. I've offered Dobby work, and he said that you might also be interested."

'_Very diplomatic little one,'_ came a voice inside his head, and a cold touch on his shoulder made him very nearly jump out of his skin. He could feel a chuckle running through his head from the invisible ghost.

"Harry Potter is offering Winky work?" she repeated between sniffles, looking up at him with big, hopeful eyes.

"Yep," Harry clarified. "If you want to Bond to me and my family, then I'll be happy to have you."

A broad smile came across her face, possibly the only one he had ever seen the depressive little creature wear. "Winky is very grateful to Harry Potter sir, to take in such a disgraceful elf."

"Please, let's have none of that," he said firmly. "I'm going to lay some ground rules down first." When both elves nodded, he continued. "First, if you want something – anything, then just ask, and I'll get you it if it's within my power. Second, I want you to take rest and eat well – don't overwork yourselves. If you're tired, then you take a break, no worries. Third, if I accidentally throw you some clothes, then don't immediately think that I'm setting you free. Unless you want to be free, I'll take care of you, okay?" They nodded, wide-eyed. "Fourth, if something goes wrong that you can't help, then don't blame yourselves, and just come and tell me. Fifth, I know you're both loyal anyway, but it's important that you don't tell strangers anything about what I'm doing, because it could be used against me. And that brings me neatly onto my sixth point – it's going to be dangerous. I've got the most powerful Dark Wizard ever known out to get me, and you're probably likely to be targeted as a way to get back at me." He paused to eye them. "Do you still want to do this?"

When he received simultaneous 'yes's', he went onto his knees and stretched out and hand to each elf. "Fire away," he said.

They nodded, and he felt the deeper magic lying dormant within them awaken. It flooded his magical senses as a brilliant white, but when it reached him it tinged green – the same colour as his eyes, and then faded into black. He could feel an almost familiar tingling that ran through his hands and into his veins, and then deeper, until it melded with his very essence.

Blinking the sunspots from his eyes, he felt the strange sensation of having two more Bonds connected to him, and knew without a doubt that he would be able to call them without even moving or making a sound.

Therefore, he was surprised to see the two of them looking distraught.

"Harry Potter sir!" Dobby cried tearfully. "Dobby does not know what has happened sir, but something has gone wrong! It has never gone wrong for Dobby before!"

Winky just stared at him in utter distress, cartoonishly large tears welling from her eyes.

Harry raised his brows in surprise. "That wasn't meant to happen?"

Dobby shook his head, making his ears flap. "Dobby couldn't make the magic do what it should sir!" Harry watched as his lower lip trembled, and rushed to prevent them both bursting out in tears.

"Woah, woah, slow down. It's not your fault, remember?" he reminded them.

"Interesting…" came a soft voice beside his ear, and Harry looked around to see that Salazar had materialised before the two petrified elves.

"What is it?" Harry asked the ghost. The man turned to regard him with an unreadable glimmer in his eyes. However, down the link were coming waves of interest. Slowly, he raised his hand to trace an icy line down his scar with a thoughtful expression, making Harry shiver from the contact.

"I had suspected something of the sort…from the extreme reaction of the Apprentice Bond, but disregarded it as a side effect of your magic. However…" he trailed off, before adding mentally, '_it appears that you have the potential to become a Soul Mage._'

"What?" Harry mouthed numbly. "You mean that I can-"

An icy finger pressed to his lips cut him off. '_These elves work for Dumbledore, and what he asks of them, they will tell.'_

'_I thought that they obeyed you?'_ Harry said.

'_Until Godric is found, the power is split between us and him.'_

"Oh," Harry said out loud. '_But…a Soul Mage…how is that even possible?_' he asked numbly.

'_I have my theory,_' Salazar said evasively, before dropping into an even more secure mode of communication than the exchange of thoughts. Parseltongue. "_I suspect that your neglectful upbringing merely exacerbated the innate talent. Your wish for people to like you forced you to unconsciously form bonds with them. However, unfortunately for you the dislike of you by your relatives were stronger than your untrained skill,_" he hissed, startling the nearby elves, who promptly scurried away. Dobby and Winky drew fearfully together.

"_But that still doesn't explain how I affected the Bond with Dobby and Winky,"_ Harry replied, the sibilant sounds rolling off his lips with the ease of practice. Speaking nothing but parseltongue for weeks had certainly improved his command of it.

"_You unconsciously altered the Bond to one of equals, which is why they are so distraught,_" Salazar said thoughtfully. "_A bond of servitude is always that, and is weaker because of it. A bond of equals not only makes them far more faithful to you as follows their natures, but you have, as a by product, given them more magic, and both you and they more control._"

"_Oh,_" Harry said with dawning comprehension. "_So you're saying that because they're equals, the bond is stronger, but at the same time I have more control over them?_"

"_And they over you,_" Salazar said looking a little displeased. "_Were this any other creature I would be disappointed in your choice, but as it is you have two powerful, faithful servants, and we have discovered a very useful talent._"

"But…I don't want to manipulate people like that," Harry whispered.

Salazar shook his head, and Harry could feel a sliver of his satisfaction coming through the apprentice bond. "You do not understand. You have been 'manipulating people' as you call it, all your life. I for one am curious as to what extent."

Harry sighed, pushing back the rising well of conflicting feelings. "Well, we can talk about this later," he said, turning back to the elves. "It wasn't your fault, okay? Nothing to worry about. It was me, and as it turns out, you're more powerful, and I accidentally made you my equals, so…" he trailed off.

Both of the creatures looked completely shell-shocked. "Equals, sir?" Winky whispered.

Harry shrugged. "Seems like it. Anyway, we can talk about that later. For the moment, I was hoping you might help me try and locate that last portrait."

The elves seemed to pull themselves out of their shock and nodded dazedly. Meanwhile, Salazar had turned to the crowd bustling about.

"House elves," he said in a soft voice that somehow carried across the entire room anyway. "You are hereby relieved of any orders you may have from the headmaster concerning Harry Potter or his friends. I would like one of you to write a list of those orders and others past, and bring them to me."

The elves nodded, and one by the one they looked up and met Harry's eyes with a curtsey or a bow. After several minutes one of them approached with a piece of parchment clutched in its long fingers. Salazar curtly took the list and dismissed the creature.

Harry watched him read in fascination. The Founder's face began as an impassive mask, but by the end his eyes had narrowed and were twisting with irritation. Harry was impressed that that was all that belied his emotions.

"I want the school years these commands were given in," Salazar commanded, and a little while later he was looking over the returned list.

"See what your grand protector does to control you," Salazar said mockingly, handing him the parchment.

'_List of Commands from the Headmaster Concerning Harry Potter and his Friends_

_If you see Harry Potter, bring him to me immediately. (Year 6)_

_Keep an eye on Harry Potter and tell me how he does. (Year 1)_

_Follow Harry Potter and tell me everything he does. (Year 6)_

_Watch Harry Potter and tell me anything that seems suspicious. (Year 5)_

_Bring me a copy of the book titles Harry Potter has borrowed. (Year 1,2)_

_Tell me the book titles in Harry Potter's trunk. (Year 2, 3, 4, 5, 6)_

_Find a way to get into Harry Potter's trunk. (Year 6)_

_When Harry Potter is boarding the train, tell me the items within his trunk. (Year 4)_

_Tell me all of the items in Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley's trunk. (Year 6)_

_Tell me all of the items in Miss Weasley's trunk. (Year 2, 6)_

_Tell me immediately if Harry Potter leaves the school for any reason. (Year 1, 2,3,4,5,6)_

_If Harry Potter comes down to the kitchens, then report to me immediately. (Year 1)_

_You can stop watching Harry now. (Year 1)_

_Do not tell Harry Potter any of the commands I give you. (Year 4)_

_Bring me Harry Potter's wand. (Year 2)_

_Bring me any letters from Harry Potter's owl before he sends them. (Year 3,4,5,6)_

_Bring me Harry Potter's owl. (Year 6)_

_Return his wand to where you found it. (Year 2)_

_Tell me exactly where Harry Potter is when he disappears these times. (Year 6)_

_Tell me what commands or requests Harry has given you (Year 6)…'_

The list went on in the same vein, but Harry grimaced, unable to carry on reading. The way in which the elves could apparently recall the commands word for word would have been amusing were the subjects different. Apparently he'd been on constant surveillance, and it sickened him. A few of them he could understand, such as the order that the headmaster be informed were he to go off the grounds in his third year, but from the others it simply seemed that the headmaster had been growing steadily more paranoid.

"He went through my trunk?" he asked weakly, and Salazar nodded.

"But you purchased a secure trunk this year, didn't you?" the Founder reminded him.

"And when he couldn't get in, he searched my friends trunks thinking I'd hidden stuff there," said Harry numbly. "He would have seen all my books on the Dark Arts. And my owl…Hedwig…what did he do to her?"

Salazar met his stare with dark, unreadable eyes. "I suggest that we find out."

"Right," Harry said. "Dobby, Winky, why don't you just do whatever you want, but if the headmaster asks, pretend that you still work for him. I'll…I'll call you when I need help."

The two elves bowed, and Harry donned the Chameleon Skin before leaving the kitchens and heading to the owlery.

---

**Notes:** Yes, I know I've been bad about updates and replies. Seriously, not being in school has thrown off my whole routine, and instead of being inside on my computer I'm outside having fun…which is healthy, just bad for updates. I'll be back on track in about two weeks.


	50. The Owlery

---

**The Owlery**

---

A soft blue toned light was beginning to show on the horizon as Harry and his spectral companion approached the Owlery. The top was filled with sleepy hoots, and the occasional bird that flew in to roost after a night of hunting. He listened to rustle of feathers with fondness before remembering why he was there.

Searching the high room for the familiar white bird, he called out a soft 'Hedwig'.

"Call to her as you would the elves. She will come," Salazar murmured from beside him, as invisible as he was.

Focusing, Harry searched his mindscape for the links he knew to be there. He reached the door to the Void, and felt each of the threads connected to him. There were several that he recognised but could not place, and there were the two strong ropes of light that he recognised as Dobby and Winky, but where was Hedwig? Concentrating, he thought of all the owl meant, of what she was, and ran his senses over the links once more.

_There_.

Focusing on it, he gave it a small mental 'tug' and opened his eyes. All he had to do now was wait. Walking to one of the windows he searched the horizon, sharp eyes soon picking up a white speck in the distance. As it grew in size, he saw that it was indeed his own owl, and almost called out to her before he checked himself. He didn't know what the old man had done to her yet.

Stepping back from the window, he watched as she soared in, circling the owlery in obvious confusion. After a moment she landed on one of the lower perches and looked curiously around.

Closing his eyes, he tuned his magical senses to a greater sensitivity and focused his attention on the bird. She was there, and he could feel her anxiousness to find her owner, along with what could be a bird equivalent of irritation that he hadn't seen her in so long.

But in the bird, besides her mind and her very mild magic, was something that didn't belong, like an itch in her feathers. Harry identified it as a small, yet complex spin of magic.

_Salazar _he called through their link. _Look at this._

There was a moment of silence in which Harry knew the Founder was investigating the owl, before he spoke again. _Take good note of the feel of this magic. You will encounter Albus' touch much during your travels._

_What's he done to her_? Harry asked dejectedly.

_It is a complex charm to track the owl, but it will only activate upon contact with you_, Salazar said blandly. _The headmaster appears to have become lazy in his approach to charms where you're concerned. This is not nearly as subtle as it could be._

_He's probably got used to people not noticing when he messes around with things,_ Harry thought. '_Right, how do I take it off?_'

As soon as he switched the method of projecting thought, half the owl's heads turned towards where he was standing, and Hedwig's intelligent eyes locked onto him as she launched herself once more into the air.

_Fuck!_ Harry mentally yelled.

_Careless child! There was a reason that we were not using thoughts_! came Salazar's snapping voice in his head, along with an overwhelming wave of irritation.

Harry ducked out of the way as the owl came soaring towards him, landing on the windowsill he had been leaning on just a moment before. Hedwig turned slowly, seeming to understand that she'd been had, and looked sharply around the room.

_Freeze her,_ Salazar commanded.

_What? I can't do that!_ Harry replied, scandalised.

A sharp stab of pain entered his head. _Do as I say_, Slytherin told him brusquely.

There was a long moment of silence in which Harry checked to make sure her vital functions were still functioning, before a wave of anger rolled down his link.

_What is it?_ he asked. Salazar growled in his head.

_The old fool created a charm that activated both on skin contact with yourself, and on contact with your magic,_ Salazar told him shortly. _You may either chance altering the charm and the old fool's discovery of you, or you may run. Either way, he will be coming to fetch you in a few minutes._

_Alter it,_ said Harry without hesitation. There was no way he was leaving Hedwig. _But…it won't hurt her will it?_

_It should not,_ Salazar said thoughtfully. _Do not, however, remove it. That will have some…ah…undesirable effects. _

Harry frowned. _What sort of undesirable effects? _

Salazar hummed. _You like your owl, don't you?_

_Yes_, Harry answered, bemused.

_Alive?_ Salazar responded with a tinge of black humour.

Harry felt as if he were going to explode with anger, but reigned it quickly back in. Anger wasn't going to help Hedwig. Groaning mentally, Harry eyed his owl, brushing Dumbledore's spell with his magic. Concentrating, he could feel the sense of purpose surrounding the spell. All he needed to do was change it…but to what?

_Flip the tracking charm to a disguise charm and the contact with magic to contact with the nothing but the air,_ Salazar told him lazily.

Harry nodded his head, wiping hair out of his face. He painstakingly morphed the tracking charm to a crude bit of magical deception, feeling like he was struggling to spin a very gently balanced weight upside-down, which he promptly refined, before starting to change the factors of the second half of the spell.

Harry heard a dark chuckle in his head that interrupted his work. _My, my, the headmaster is flustered. Running up here under a simple deception spell without a care in the world, as if I hadn't taught you a thing._

_Fuck,_ Harry cursed, and received a non-verbal reprimand from the Founder. Hurrying the last of the charm, he unfroze Hedwig and rushed up to her.

"Look girl," he whispered hurriedly. "I can't be seen by the headmaster now, so fly and see if you can draw him away. I'll find you as soon as I can."

His owl gave a piercing look in his general direction before taking flight from the window, just as the headmaster burst in. Even if Harry's magical senses weren't picking it up, he was sure he would have noticed. The man hadn't even cast a silencing charm over himself, although his pom-pommed slippers seemed to have one built in. It was because of this that Harry could hear his breaths coming fast from his throat as he moved to the centre of the room. He seemed to realise this, because he cast a hasty silencing spell over himself.

Harry, at a mental nod from Salazar, moved softly round the man, and Faded out as he reached the stairs. He arrived at the base of the Owlery where he applied another careful magical concealer over himself and waited for the headmaster to descend from the steps, looking rather dejected at not being able to catch his boy-hero.

Harry silently followed him as he wandered back into the school, strangely walking towards the dungeons rather than his office. Harry hurried to catch up, until Dumbledore came to stop at one of the private potions labs.

"It's Albus," he called out in reply to muffled question.

The door opened, and Harry barely managed to slip through with the headmaster before it slammed shut behind. Not for the first time, he wished he could walk through walls like Salazar. He'd tried to do that when he was half Faded, but it had had some unpleasant effects. He'd never missed his nose so much as when it was caught on the other side of the wall like a rock in a sieve.

"Severus," Dumbledore said wearily, and Harry watched with surprise as Snape conjured him a chair. Surely Dumbledore could do that himself?

_He is still drained,_ came the smirking whisper in his head. _And so he should remain_.

"I take it that Potter decided to show up then," Snape said casually, letting a slow stream of blood pour into the cauldron he was working on.

"Yes, indeed," said Dumbledore. "The spell I placed on his owl activated from inside the owlery, and I came as fast as I could. Apparently not fast enough." He gave a little chuckle at that.

Snape frowned. "It sounds as if the boy discovered the spell," he observed.

"It appears you are right once again my boy, but it was subtle magic. He should not have been able, considering his skills when he left, " Dumbledore said, his brows furrowing slightly in thought. "I find it unlikely that he has improved so much since we last saw him."

Harry felt a smile curve his lips upwards in smug satisfaction. He could barely resist a silent _'take that old man!'_

"I find myself wondering if his appearance in the owlery was entirely coincidental," Dumbledore continued with a glance at the Potions Professor.

Snape shot him a shrewd look. "You think he was owling his friends."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Dumbledore nodded vaguely.

Snape sighed. "I will browse through their recent memories next class then. That is what you were asking, wasn't it?"

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "Thank you Severus."

_What?! _Harry yelled silently across the link, taking an unconscious step towards them both. How dare they-

An icy grip caught his arm. _Leave it, little one. Your friends are protected by their very ignorance. _

_But that doesn't excuse- _Harry began angrily, before he was brought back to earth as Salazar's hand tightened over his wrist.

_I have told you to leave the matter. Do not make me remind you, _the Founder's voice resounded forcefully through his head as he finally released his arm. _What goes around will come around. Your headmaster will one day regret this decision, I am sure. _

It took Harry a moment, but he managed to calm himself down. He wouldn't let this go unpunished, he vowed. The idea of the greasy git browsing through Ron and Hermione's heads set his anger alight, and he forced himself to concentrate on the conversation.

"-help but think the spell is beyond his powers," Harry heard Dumbledore say in the background.

"Quite. Perhaps there was another individual accompanying him," Snape suggested.

"Perhaps. If the boy has received training though…" the headmaster trailed off into his own thoughts.

Snape's lip curled minutely, and it was only from years of watching the man for signs of danger during his potions class that Harry registered the look of disapproval.

"You have yet to explain exactly _why_ you refuse to allow the boy the training he so desperately needs. Merlin knows I pity the person who will finally have to help him," Snape said with a shake of his head.

In his mind, Harry heard Salazar's soft laugh, and couldn't help but smirk himself. He would bet all the gold in Gringotts that Snape would do just about anything to trade places with himself at present, even if it did mean tackling Voldemort every year.

"Dire things will come about Severus," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "Were Harry to realise his full potential, then the Head of House Potter would wield a great amount of power."

Snape's head snapped up in surprise and his eyes narrowed marginally. "Head of House Potter? By Salazar Albus, you're genuinely restraining the boy for fear of what some distant relation would do if they realised their position of power? There are bare months left till the brat comes of age, and he'll likely be killed before then."

_Swearing by my name…how intriguing_, the Founder said dryly.

Harry rolled his eyes. _Don't let me stop you from having your ego boosted._ There was light reprimanding stab of pain across his forehead, but Harry still smiled.

"It was necessary," Dumbledore said softly.

"You're really prepared to sacrifice the future of the wizarding world for fear that someone else would use the scant few months in a position of power?" Snape said, almost incredulous, though his hands didn't stop the even stirs of the potion.

"It was a decision I had to make," the headmaster said more firmly. "If you knew who bore the title…"

"Who does? Short of the Dark Lord, it can't be worth compromising the success of the Light," Snape snapped. "You've practically served us up to him on a silver platter!"

"If I had acted otherwise, he would have had years of exposure to the Head of the Potters, and that was not a risk I was willing to take," Dumbledore finished in a tone that brooked no opposition. "The consequences of that decision could have put us in a position worse than we are now."

"And yet you still chose to drive him away," Snape sneered. "The boy is stubborn Albus, Merlin knows I've experienced enough of _that_ Gryffindor characteristic. It's not as if he's going to be seduced to the Dark side," he said scathingly.

Harry sent a mental laugh to Salazar.

"Severus, I am afraid that your animosity for the boy impairs some of your judgement where he is concerned," Dumbledore said in a mild tone that set the Potion Master's eye to twitching. "What he craves most in life is family. During his first year in school, he looked in the Mirror of Erised and saw his family. Consider the implications of that. Were the Head of House Potter to realise this, then I am afraid that it would take little to convert him."

Snape snorted. "The Mirror of Erised. You and your little challenges. How you came to the conclusion that you can train the brat through 'morally enhancing trials' is beyond me," he said scornfully. "Of course the boy wants family - the House of Potter is decimated beyond recognition, and his parents were murdered by a raging psychopath. I would assume that there was something abnormal about the boy if he did not miss being 'normal' and having a 'normal family'."

Harry sucked in a breath, focusing intently on the headmaster.

"That is precisely the reason that he has remained untrained," Dumbledore repeated. "That fact is powerful leverage, and since the boy is an unskilled Occlumens, his thoughts and desires lay open on the surface."

Snape snorted and stirred the cauldron.

"And without alerting the Head of the Potters, I could do little else than provide trials for him. It is thanks to them and his exceedingly loyal friends that he has remained steadfastly light."

Snape sighed and brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Albus, the Prophecy is _quite_ clear on this fact. It remains either the Dark Lord or him, and whether he is 'Light' pales in comparison to the concept that he might just lose that particular battle. Simply because he has jumped through your hoops and won before does not guarantee his success, particularly without any prior training."

_Prophecy. Rowena mentioned a prophecy too,_ Harry said, focusing intently on the conversation.

_We will discuss this later, little one,_ Salazar replied calmly, although there was something strange in his voice that made Harry turn to glance at where he thought he stood. _When the time comes._

Dumbledore appeared to sag a little in his chair, the customary smile absent from his eyes.

"I do not know if what I have done is right Severus," he said. "But it is done, and Harry has indeed fled. We are left with no other choice but to endeavour to make the best of the situation."

"But that doesn't explain why you thought it was the right thing to do," Snape said impatiently, dicing an eyeball particularly viciously.

"You know as well as I that the true Dark Arts corrupt and warp the caster. If Harry had been in the company of the Head of House Potter all this time, we would undoubtedly have another Dark Lord on our hands when Voldemort was finished," he said, ignoring Snape's flinch at the name. "And with his power…"

"'_and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,'_" the Potions Master quoted, before slamming a hand palm down on the desk. "Does this mean nothing to you? He may have equal power to the Dark Lord, but we will not be left waiting on another Prophecy. If it had not been for the Prophecy in the first place you would have exterminated the Dark Lord by now just as you did Grindelwald, and I suspect you would have been equally able to take down a third."

"I am not sure that even I could take down Voldemort," Dumbledore said quietly, and Snape twitched again. "And in my present state…" he gestured eloquently.

"You may not remember this Albus, but you are still a great deal more powerful than most witches and wizards," he said stiffly. "And the Dark Lord still fears that."

"A fact, I am sure, that has kept me alive many years beyond my due," Dumbledore replied mildly. "We have had this argument countless times before Severus, and it would not do to persist with it."

"Quite," Snape replied dryly.

"We do however, need to get him back," said Dumbledore, voice weary once more.

Snape laughed. "Potions lessons have been remarkably quiet without the brat. I do hate to think of another year that I am unable to dock points from my _favourite_ Gryffindor."

"Of course," Dumbledore smiled, the tone one of someone who has heard this many times before and has become resigned to it. "We all need our hobbies. Although I would appreciate it if you could at least make an effort to lessen your animosity though. It doesn't help either of you."

"On the contrary Albus, I find it to be quite stress relieving," Snape said with a malicious smirk. Dumbledore just smiled and shook his head.

"His disappearance creates so many more dilemmas. I find myself worrying for his safety," Dumbledore murmured absently.

"You mean you worry for the safety of 'the greater good'," Snape corrected, adding a delicate sprinkle of powder into the cauldron and lowering the temperature.

"My dear boy, I can assure you that I do actually fear for the boy, despite your numerous protestations on that matter," Dumbledore said sternly, eyes twinkling despite it. "One might say you sounded jealous," the headmaster added with a twinkle as Snape stalked over to the shelves.

_Oh, he's brave to taunt him like that,_ Harry shot mockingly at Salazar with a laugh.

Snape merely snorted. "I have little to be jealous of. My life expectancy is low enough without the Dark Lord personally aiming to destroy me."

Salazar chuckled inside his head, sounding strange as the headmaster mimicked him externally. _To think that you assumed he was without good qualities,_ the Founder replied.

_I never said he was without good qualities,_ Harry retorted, _I merely said that I was never in a position to see any of them. Having good qualities doesn't stop him being a right rotten bastard._

_So cynical, my little one,_ Salazar chided.

"Will you attempt to locate his owl then?" Snape asked after a stretch of silence.

"I do not know what I will do, as of yet," Dumbledore said. "The Order is searching for him as best they can, and we can only hope that we find him before the Death Eaters do."

"If the brat has found a tutor," Snape said, casting a sly glance to where Albus was seated, "then we may assume that he is safe." He paused before shaking his head in disbelief. "Although I find it hard to believe the boy hasn't simply lost himself in Muggle London or some such nonsense. Have you attempted scrying for him?"

"Cornelius has not been very forthcoming in that area," he said disappointedly. "He seems to think I'm merely hiding Harry under my robes in a poor excuse to gain access to the Department of Mysteries."

Snape gave a grunt of recognition and stirred the potion counter clockwise, counting under his breath.

"He hasn't tried owling his friends or visiting them," Dumbledore mused. "Yet my instruments tell me he is in no danger. There were a few instances where he appeared to be in extreme pain…" he trailed off.

_Ah, the old man's sensors do not pick up pleasure then?_ Salazar said with a mental smirk.

Harry sent back a grumble. _You and your 'two most valuable tools'. I'm not exactly about to go into the torture business._

_I did mention once that you could employ those torture methods on the old man in front of you…_ Salazar replied, reminding him with a heavy touch of humour.

Harry promptly gagged, and was inordinately glad for the silencing magic around him. _Just because I want to get back at him doesn't mean I want to see him writhing around in delight_, _even if it is in the process of torture!_ he said cuttingly.

_You could always cause a situation in which it appeared that he was aroused by the students in his school,_ Salazar suggested, _I have no doubts that the newspapers would enjoy that story._ Despite himself Harry burst out in silent laugher.

_Oh Merlin, you are one sick man,_ Harry gasped.

_To my knowledge Merlin suffered very few illnesses,_ Salazar deadpanned.

_Has something put you in a particularly good mood today?_ Harry asked, raising his brows at the poor word play, and felt the returned 'shrug'.

_Not in particular, although it is pleasant to roam the school again._

Harry shook his head and returned to the conversation before them in time to hear an interesting snippet.

"-and how long it will take for him to realise their connection? Voldemort is far from stupid, and he will utilise all he has access too. If he is present in the boy's mind, then I am afraid that he will attempt to possess him," Dumbledore said sombrely.

"That would be his style," Snape said grudgingly. "But I fail to see why your appearance would trigger it."

"If Harry sees me then I fear that the image will register with Tom, and he will snatch the opportunity to attempt to goad me into killing my student," Dumbledore replied. "That is not something I am willing to risk, _or _do."

"Well, you are certainly a glutton for punishment," Snape commented dryly. "Not only do you have the near impossible chance of retrieving the brat, but you must make sure he is firmly on the side of Light and explain to him much of the Prophecy, all whilst avoiding his eyes," he finished with a twist of sarcasm. "Brilliant Albus."

"Ah, you take everything so negatively Severus," Dumbledore chuckled light-heartedly. "If there it is even remotely possible, I will find a way. I happen to rather enjoy the occasional challenge. Besides, as of yet I feel that Voldemort remains unaware of the connection. I will risk it if I must."

"No doubt," Snape replied dryly. "If you actually manage to find the incorrigible brat."

Dumbledore nodded gently. "Yes, that is indeed a most pressing dilemma. One that I plan to cure as soon as I can. Still," he said standing; "I have wasted enough of your brewing time. I hear that Poppy is running low on Skele-grow," he added with a wink.

Harry quickly dodged out of the way of the door, and the headmaster opened it before pausing on the threshold. "Oh Severus? Perhaps you might further question some of your…'extended family' at the next meeting."

Snape looked up at him and gave a curt nod, turning back to his potion. Rather than risk alerting Dumbledore to his presence, he merely Faded back into the hallway and promptly jogged to catch up with the headmaster. The old man certainly seemed to put on some good speed when no one was around to witness it. Indeed, most students were on the Hogsmeade weekend, whilst those that remained at the school haunted their common rooms or the Quidditch pitch.

Harry followed the headmaster through the winding corridors of the Dungeons and up past the Great Hall. Initially he assumed that he was heading back to his office, but he turned down an unused corridor on the fifth floor, and Harry followed with curiosity. At the end of the corridor was a single door, which Harry entered closely behind the headmaster.

The room was large and circular, with one window directly opposite the door. The entire place was made plain stone, and if it had not been for the sunlight that filtered weakly through the window then it would have been deeply shadowed. As it was, Harry looked around with thinly veiled interest.

_The room of rituals,_ Salazar murmured in his head. _The old man truly has become desperate if he's attempting a ritual to find you. This should have amusing results, don't you think?_

Harry, who hadn't read very much more about rituals than the apprentice ritual merely shrugged. _If you say so. _

"So it has come to this…" Dumbledore murmured sadly. With a sigh, he waved his hand and a stick of purple chalk began whirring about the floor in a manner that reminded Harry of the Ritual of Apprenticeship. The pattern emerging was one of a many-pointed star, with several concentric circles in the centre. He could feel Salazar's frown as he watched, invisible.

Then, something very strange happened. He could feel his mentor's intent change, and then his mind was flooded with fleeting ideas and images, all flashing past in such quick succession that he was hard pressed to recall a single one.

In shock, Harry staggered back against the wall, flinching as a cold hand came to rest on his shoulder.

_It would not do for you to remain in this room,_ Salazar told him, suddenly very serious. _I will explain the meaning of what he is about to do later._

Harry paused, thinking of where he was to Fade.

_Go!_ said the insistent voice in his head, and focusing on the location, he Faded away, in time to see a foggy wave of light rise up just before he left.

Blinking, Harry looked around the Headmaster's office. It was filled with familiar trinkets and little whirring curiosities. His eyes scanned across the shelf of books, eyes absently taking in the titles. He paused at a green leather bound volume, something in the back of his brain stirring, just out of reach. His thoughts were suddenly disturbed by a trill from his side, making him start and turn, promptly blanching at the sight of Fawkes, sitting on his perch and eyeing him serenely. Warily, he approached the bird, unsure if it could merely sense him or if it could see through the Chameleon Skin.

'_Hey there,'_ he projected, aware that he was still Silenced. His magic had proven that as a liquid, living entity it was far more useful, and acted in several ways rather than a single purpose.

'_Poison,'_ came the reply, and Harry started in surprise.

'_Erm…poison?_' Harry questioned, bemused.

'_Poison, blood,'_ the bird replied, fixing him with a beady stare.

'_Uh…'_ Harry trailed off. Just what did one say to that? '_How…how have you been?_'

Harry received a jumbled mixture of images in return – the feel of the wind under his wings, eating one of Dumbledore's lemon drops, worry for himself. Harry blinked in sudden comprehension.

'_You think my _name_ is Poison?_' he asked.

The bird blinked at him and dipped its head. Harry got the feeling that conversing with words really wasn't its forte. Frowning, Harry sent the memory of Dumbledore speaking about his 'instruments' to the bird, wrapped in a question. There was a long moment of silence, and then Harry received a veritable boatload memories and ideas in return.

Dumbledore apparently had a great deal of instruments associated with him, and half of them were sitting innocuously on his desk, spinning and whirring as they worked.

Frowning, Harry swept his magical senses across them, focusing on them rather than the magical aura of the room. There was one that looked like a little silver wind speed measurer that would whirr when emotions like panic or fear arose. There was another that dipped up and down, which would monitor emotions such as anger. Yet another measured the approximate power of his spells, and would set off an alarm when they exceeded a certain strength. There were ones to measure the chaos level of his magic, his proximity to Dumbledore himself, the wards on Privet Drive, and his pain levels.

Yet he knew from his reading that these shouldn't be possible, at least legally. And currently there were only two methods of doing such monitoring, and neither within the law: Soul Magic and Blood Magic. And since Dumbledore hadn't chopped off pieces of his soul…

Growling, Harry reached to each of the little instruments and incinerated the blood core. The office fell promptly silent.

A moment later a very flustered looking headmaster ran into the room, and Harry dropped his disguise with bitter satisfaction.

"Hello Albus."

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**Notes:** Holy hell, 800 reviews. I think this about time I say thanks to all you lovely people out there for the great response, even when I've been a bit late with the chapters. Reading that people are enjoying this really cheers me up to come back to after a horrible day, so…well, thanks! Things are starting to get mysterious for Harry, while other things are being revealed. I struggled quite a bit with this patch of the story. Having a manipulative Dumbledore is all great, but a lot of the 'whys' for his behaviour come quite a bit later, so I hope these few chapters don't appear too weak or contrived.

Hope you enjoy, and I'll try and get the next chapter up a bit sooner this time. There were a few problems uploading documents to Fanfiction . net which is why this chapter is so late.


	51. Albus Dumbledore

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**Albus Dumbledore **

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For a moment Harry relished the look of complete shock that was written over the headmaster's face. It wasn't often one got to witness the unflappable man speechless, and Harry planned to try and set a new record in the coming conversation. There was a brief period when Harry almost thought that he was going to start spluttering, but instead he seemed to draw himself together and regain some of his composure.

"Harry, how…how nice to see you my boy, please have a seat," he said traversing the desk to his usual chair. "Lemon drop?" he offered, and Harry watched the twinkle return to his eyes.

Impassively, he shook his head, and Dumbledore replaced the bowl on the desktop. Harry repressed a scowl as he felt a cursory magical touch from the old man.

"There has been quite a search for you since you disappeared," Dumbledore said neutrally.

"I'm sure there has been," Harry replied blandly. "There have been quite the news paper articles too."

"Yes, I am afraid that Cornelius has been rather keen on making you into his scapegoat," said Dumbledore sadly. "Even I've been unable to persuade him otherwise."

"How long 'til the reward for my corpse goes out?" Harry asked dryly, and Dumbledore chuckled. The sound didn't do anything to lessen the tense undercurrent between them.

"Oh, I suspect that he is not ready to build such an enemy out of you yet," he replied lightly. "He wants an enemy he can defeat, after all."

Harry snorted. "Well, that's a matter for another time. I understand you had several things to tell me?"

Dumbledore's face became grave, and his eyes lost their twinkle once more. "Yes, indeed I do Harry. Indeed I do." He sighed and sat back in his chair. "I think that I have delayed informing you of your future for too long know, and I do so with a heavy heart although I know the time for it has come and passed."

Inwardly Harry frowned. He had a horrible sense of foreboding about the coming conversation.

"At age eleven, at the end of your first year when you had acted every bit the courageous young man I had grown to expect, you asked me why Voldemort saw fit to attempt to kill you that night," Dumbledore said sombrely, launching into his tale. "I deluded myself with the excuse that you were too young to learn the truth of the matter, but in my mind I was unwilling to destroy what little childhood you had left to enjoy."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he picked up a sly peripheral thought coming from the man. "You knew exactly what you were leaving me with," he said softly.

If possible, Albus' eyes became even sadder. "Indeed I did my boy, and I am sorry for it. I had thought at the time that it was the best choice for you."

"That, is not an excuse," Harry hissed, "nor will it heal the damage."

"I know, I know," he sighed. "The fact of the matter is that there was no alternative. I was perhaps the only person in Wizarding Britain who realised that Voldemort was not truly gone, as many believed. Your mother's protection, her love, was all that stood between yourself and him, and it needed to be extended."

Harry's eyes widened at the implications of this. Love, although ephemeral magic, could only be anchored through a physical essence. "Blood," he said slowly. "You used my blood."

"That I did," Dumbledore agreed. "Through your blood, I tied the wards to you, and through your aunt's I provided an outlet for that protection through the form of family."

Harry chuckled mirthlessly. It seemed that Albus had been sampling the life that ran through his veins for years. "For all those wards built on love, there was none for me in that house."

Dumbledore inclined his head regretfully. "I wish that I could tell you that their love fuelled the wards, but I knew as I left you there that you were going to experience a less than loving upbringing, yet I also knew that there was no other option. A wizarding family – whilst there were many who would have accepted you without hesitation, would have been unable to protect you in the same way."

Harry levelled him with a cool glare. "Half truths Dumbledore, half truths. If that family loved me and raised me as one of their own, then their love could have been channelled into a protection. Different, but magical bonds are no less strong than blood bonds." He paused at the glimmer of surprise showing in the headmaster's eyes before it was quickly hidden. "Still," he said with a wave of his hand, "let's pretend that you're speaking the gospel truth. Why was Voldemort coming after me that night?"

Albus blinked and his eyes became once more unreadable. "Several months before you were born, in the winter holidays, I travelled to the Hog's Head to meet a candidate for the Divination post. I was considering removing the subject from the curriculum altogether, and the teacher that I met for the position left me…shall we say rather unimpressed? Still, she came from a long line of seers, and I saw it fit to hear her out despite her pretences. However, it became swiftly apparent that she was nothing more than a second class actor, quite enamoured of her own worth." Harry watched impassively; he had a feeling he knew who this was going to be.

"I had not intended to meet for anything more than the teaching position, and as such we conducted the interview in her rooms above the main tavern - preferred for the low cost." Albus eyes sparkled with a tiny snip of humour. "You will imagine my shock when, in the middle of discussing her favourite beverage," his eyes twinkled once more at this, "which if I recall correctly was sherry, she showed the seeds of true talent."

"Prophecy," said Harry softly. Albus nodded gently.

"Quite so. Now, deep in the Ministry there is a floor named the Department of Mysteries and within that department lies a room called the Hall of Prophecies," Dumbledore explained. "Each witness to a true Prophecy is called to record their memory of the event. The Unspeakables have a very delicate, very tricky spell set up over the hall used to pick up the particular magical spikes associated with true Prophecy, and the memory is sealed within a globe and stored in the Hall."

"You witnessed it," Harry guessed.

Standing, Dumbledore crossed to the cupboard Harry knew the pensieve to be stored in. "Indeed I did my boy. And as such, I am finally able to reveal to you the contents of this Prophecy."

Returning to his seat, he raised his wand to his temple and drew a long, silvery thread of memory into the basin. Raising his head to observe the dark-haired boy in front of him, he tapped the bowl, a swirl of mist rising and coalescing into a shady figure.

Sybil Trelawney stood a few inches high above the swirling liquid, equipped with those magnifying glasses and that same distant voice and glazed expression that Harry had seen once before, in his third year. He seemed to be doomed to be the recipient of her brief flashes of true vision.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can survive while the other is alive ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

Harry's gaze darkened into something unreadable as he listened. He had already gleaned a certain amount from Snape's quotes, but hearing the real thing sent his mind into a black place. All this protection, all this suffering throughout his childhood, and he was under a veritable protection from anyone and everyone but Voldemort. For some reason, his life seemed to revolve around the man. Voldemort was his start and his finish, his alpha and omega.

That revelation wasn't something that pleased him.

"Play it again," he commanded, and listened to the hoarse speech for a second time, trying to find some loop, some misdirection of the words. Prophecies were notoriously tricky, and he knew that there had to be something, some thread that had been forgotten that he could use to pull himself out of it.

"Now, at that time a spy of Voldemort's was listening outside the door. My brother Aberforth caught him, and so he only managed to report the first few lines to his master," Dumbledore told him. "It is imperative that Voldemort never hears further than he did when you were to be born. The contents of the Prophecy are an advantage over him, and he would give much to be able to hear the full contents."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "The power that the Dark Lord knows not…" he trailed off. "What is it?"

"Love," Dumbledore said simply. Harry blinked at him and then let out a humourless laugh.

"I highly doubt that my dear nemesis has never known it. But then, by my reckoning, neither have I," he sneered at the man seated before him.

Albus looked a little taken aback. "My dear boy, I assure you, your friends-"

"Do I love them?" Harry asked. "I wouldn't know. No one explained it to me – what I was meant to feel. I learnt the word by asking my teacher what it meant, after I overheard it on one of the neighbourhood mother's lips when she came to pick up her son from my nursery school."

"I-" Dumbledore began, but Harry cut him off.

"Did nothing, yes," Harry snapped. He knew he was losing control, but it felt so _good_ to be able to finally get this off his chest. "Love isn't the pure thing you try and idealise it as. Voldemort never experienced love, you say. What kind? Is the love of a brother the same as the love of a friend? Of course not," Harry scoffed. "Besides, it is not an emotion that is difficult to synthesise. It's all in here," he said, tapping his temples. "A tweak there, a change here, and you feel it. Even if you had some chemical imbalance that rendered you unable to feel it, he's a Leglimens. He would have looked through minds and memories alike. He would have felt it, even if he didn't understand it."

Dumbledore found himself fixed with a steady gaze, and for the first time in decades he felt the urge to squirm. "I…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. "I have never come to another conclusion. But your interpretation…" he paused. "It may well be the case. I am afraid that I have simply been a foolish old man Harry, to not only keep the Prophecy from you, but to remain so stubbornly faithful to my own conclusion." He spread his hands ruefully.

Harry had to actively restrain his lip from curling in a manner similar to his least favourite Potions teacher. After a long moment, he leant back in his chair and eyed the headmaster contemplatively. There remained much more that he needed to have explained. He couldn't allow himself to become angry or irrational in such a way that he'd let Dumbledore slip something past him.

"Right, onto the next matter then," he said dismissively, and stored the memory of the Prophecy away in the back of his mind. Dumbledore blinked.

"There is little more you need to know," he told him.

Harry frowned. "You mean there is little more you want to tell me. Begin with Voldemort."

"Tom Riddle has left little behind for me to-"

"Voldemort," Harry corrected. "Not Tom Riddle. The man as he is now."

Albus paused before shaking his head with a slight smile. He seemed almost…proud? Harry's eyes narrowed marginally. "Once again, I see that you are not to be deterred. Perhaps…I think it best to begin with the night that he gave you that scar."

"As we know, little Peter Pettigrew betrayed your parents to him, and Voldemort made his way to their home. From what you have told me, he entered the house and duelled with your father. Then, he came for you, and your mother's sacrifice served to protect you."

Harry's brow creased in thought. "Why me, out of all the children for whom their parents have died?"

"It would seem that-" Dumbledore was drowned out by the voice in his mind.

_Soul Magic, little one. You reached for the one thing capable of saving you, and it was not your mother's love, but her soul,_ Salazar murmured.

"-as the Prophecy appeared to dictate."

Harry nodded, trying to keep his face straight, although it was more to Salazar's words than Albus', which he hadn't caught at all. The idea that he had used his mother's very _soul_ to protect himself left him feeling deeply disturbed.

"Right, after that then," Harry prompted.

"Ah, well when your mother's love protected you-"

_The soul served to prevent the killing strike,_ said Salazar softly, _but the very nature of the curse demands some kind of sacrifice on the part of the intended victim, and it left you with a small scar, taking its trophy of blood as payment. You see, the soul lingers briefly after death, and in its unrefined form it took the brunt of the blow. It wove a protection – all that comes naturally to a mother, combined with the power of the Killing Curse._

_And Voldemort?_ Harry asked, feeling sick.

_Voldemort acted as a third party,_ Salazar said. _He provided the power behind the Killing Curse, but, being untrained in the Soul Arts, when you grasped for the protection of your mother you also acquired Voldemort's protection, so that when the curse struck, he was in effect striking his very soul, and as he was not lifeless as your mother was, he came very close to destruction that night._

_Then I have a part of his soul in me,_ said Harry very quietly.

_A fragment I think, yes,_ Salazar agreed. _But only so much as to transfer and imprint some of his gifts upon you. You see, it is in the nature of the Killing Curse to destroy, and when there lacks a sacrifice such as a life to deaden the blow it will eat into the soul. No one killed with the curse remains with a whole soul, not even you._

_It…he…you mean that my parent's souls were…damaged?_ Harry croaked.

_Only marginally,_ said Salazar delicately.

"-Harry?"

Breaking away from his thoughts, he looked into concerned blue eyes. "Sorry," he muttered. "I was miles away."

Still watching him carefully, Dumbledore continued speaking. "It appears that there remains a connection between the two of you, through your scar. I am afraid, that this connection may be manipulated."

Whilst Dumbledore was looking at him with sad eyes, Harry was thinking of the possibilities. "Then I have an advantage over him," Harry concluded, and Albus' eyes widened. "If he doesn't know about it yet."

"Harry, I must warn against this. You cannot possibly consider such a course of action. It would be playing with fire, and I can assure you that you will get burnt far sooner than you could imagine," he said gravely, eyes still and worried.

Harry levelled a cool gaze at the headmaster. "This is going to be a war. The greater the advantage I have over him, the sooner I can win, and the fewer people will die. I've had people dying and sacrificing themselves for me all through my life." _Except for where it might have actually counted,_ he added bitterly. No one sacrificed a bit of their time for him in the first eleven years of his life, and now they seemed to be doing it overtime to make up for it.

Dumbledore looked as if he were about to protest, but swallowed and nodded instead. "You're a noble man Harry, and as much as I'd like to hold you back from danger, I can truly only warn you now."

_Ah, yes,_ Salazar's voice came in his head, and a cold hand lay on his shoulder, making him flinch. _Holding you back from danger. It seems he has learnt his lesson after throwing you to the dogs._

A whole tumult of emotions tumbled to the forefront of his mind with that. It made him feel warm and somewhat comforted to know that he had Dumbledore's care and respect, but beneath that he was so bitter and furious for being condemned by the same man to eleven years of unrelieved torment.

Salazar's comment amused him in a dry, austere fashion. He could see from Albus' expression that the flinch had not gone unnoticed, and he was sure that Salazar had planned it that way. The headmaster looked at him with pained eyes, which did nothing but stir his already confused feelings. It seemed ironic that he trusted the infamous Slytherin more than the eccentric, caring Albus Dumbledore. He knew that Salazar knew that too. After all, he'd nurtured Harry's feelings for both himself and the headmaster. Merlin knows what Salazar had moved around in his head when he was unconscious, and in some ways Harry really didn't want to know if he had, and risk destroying his faith in any sort of mentor figure once and for all.

Harry made a noise somewhere between a snort and a grunt. "What else, besides tinkering with Voldemort's brain?"

"I assure you there-" Dumbledore began, looking confused.

"When he dies, what happens to me?" Harry said bluntly, and was rewarded with the slightest guilt and pain flitting across the headmaster's face.

"The connection may have…undesirable side effects," he said quietly.

"Tell me," Harry instructed brusquely. Dumbledore sighed and raised a hand to massage his temples.

"The prophecy dictates that if he is to die then it must be by your hand," he began slowly. "However, your connection runs deep, and if he becomes aware of it he may very well abuse the knowledge. It is…unlikely that you will survive the encounter."

Harry bared his teeth in a furious snarl, all thoughts about remaining calm and rational disappearing from his head in a puff of smoke. "Death for the greater good, eh Albus? You talk about giving me a childhood, but push me towards my fate without a care in the world, knowing that when he dies, so do I," he said coldly.

"I did what I could," Dumbledore murmured.

"What you could?" Harry growled standing from his seat to pace the floor. "You did what you wanted to, regardless of what you 'could' have done. Your 'could' wasn't good enough." Harry paused and slammed his hand onto the desk, rattling the delicate silver instruments. "You talk about giving me childhood, yet you left me with monsters for eleven years," he said softly. "You talk about caring, yet you throw me into danger."

Dumbledore's eyes widened, and Harry hissed. "Oh yes, I know all about your little challenges. It would seem that your saviour has outgrown his lessons, old man. For all this talk of caring, you could have trained me to destroy the man by now, because that's it, isn't it? If one of us dies, we both go down. That's what the Prophecy is really saying. It should be '_for neither can live if the other is to die'_. I could have had family, old man. I could have died and saved your 'greater good' by now. But you somehow managed to botch up everything, didn't you?"

Harry laughed bitterly and humourlessly. "Did it just kill you to realise that you'd made mistake after mistake? You put me with those…creatures for the sake of my 'childhood', which I never had, my protection, which never saved me from them. I grew up not even knowing there was magic in the world. Thought they could beat it out of me," he murmured. "So I arrived at Hogwarts untrained, worthless in a battle with Voldemort, and you realised that all the wizarding world had to rely on was a chance that I might take the bastard with me when I died. So, you set up your little challenges, put me through controlled danger in the hopes that I'd grow up 'strong', and 'Light', but not too strong, or I wouldn't stay 'Light', would I?"

Spotting the slight change in the headmaster's expression, Harry zeroed in on the point. "Oh yes, that's it, isn't it? Either I'd have family, and maybe even be loved and be 'Dark', or I'd be abused and starved, and have a chance at being 'Light'. Did you not think that perhaps sending me to those people might have left some anger to fester? That perhaps, if I'd been sent to the true Head of House Potter, and experienced even the barest love that I might have been more inclined to the 'Light'?"

Dumbledore appeared to deflate. "Yes," he murmured. "I did wonder."

Harry's lip curled. "Wondering is in the past, and you have to work with what you've created." He stood back and resumed his seat, sending a cold smile at him. "Do I remind you of someone Dumbledore? He said so himself that we are strangely alike," he said softly, and was rewarded with Dumbledore paling dramatically. It pleased him in a perverse way to rub the headmaster's failures in his face, even though he could hear Slytherin's murmur of '_Gratuitous'_, in the back of his mind. "You would think," he continued gently, "that the great Albus Dumbledore would not make the same mistake twice. You would think that he might consider that his saviour's will to survive – a rather Slytherin trait – might outweigh his own moral training. After all," he added carelessly, but kept his attention on the headmaster, "I never did have much of a standard to learn from. Muggles, the worst of their kind, and you thought that I would call them family."

He paused to admire the slight tremble in the man's hands as he reached for the bowl of lemon drops. "Perhaps you did have a working plan after all. What with my terrible home life, I'd have very little to look forwards to. With the proper moral coaching, I might make friends, people who I would die to save." He paused. "But you got it wrong. My life wasn't bad enough. I made friends, but I want to see them grow up. I don't want to die," he said emotionlessly.

Albus remained as pale as ever, popping another sweet into his mouth with shaking hands.

"Calm down, for Merlin's sake," Harry snapped. "I'm not about to ally myself with Voldemort."

For a moment the headmaster met his eyes, but then he bowed his head. He deserved this, and his sadness – weakness – only served to infuriate him further.

"I have made a grievous mistake," he said quietly, "and having the power to make lasting decisions, I make comparatively greater mistakes. I can only hope that you will forgive an old man his foolishness. I am so deeply sorry Harry,"

"Not sorry enough," Harry sneered. "But Muggles do say that 'there's no sense crying over spilt milk'. It's done, it's over, and now you have to live with the consequences." He paused and chuckled before adding, "Experience is the greatest teacher, but it seems that she needs to give you lessons twice before you begin to learn from them."

"Quite right my boy, quite right. We can only move forwards," Dumbledore said wearily. "How do you propose we continue?"

"Tom Riddle," said Harry decisively. "You can begin with Tom Riddle."

---

**Notes:** Argh, sorry, sorry, I know it's been quite a while again. I guess all I can say is that updates will have to slow to once (or maybe twice) a week till I've got back on top of my work. And…er…I've also discovered Morrowind – those who've played it will understand how the hours get sucked away until you look out the window and realise it's got dark without you noticing . I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and sorry for being rubbish about replying to reviews recently. Oh, and also, what Albus was doing last chapter with the ritual will be explained later – I haven't forgotten.

**Important **Oh, and a final note – I haven't mis-remembered the prophecy, I've just tweaked it a little to suit a later point in the story and make it more clear. The essence of that line is the same. **Important**


	52. Tom Riddle

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**Tom Riddle**

---

The headmaster stood slowly, and crossed the room back to the mirrored cupboard that had contained the pensieve. With care, he selected several vials; each filled with silvery memory.

Harry watched him with an observant eye. The man had changed since the previous year. The youthful energy and grace that had previously been instilled in him had fled with the return of Voldemort and the loss of his magic, and he moved as every bit of his one hundred and fifty-seven years. The wisdom and care remained, but it was tempered with a surrounding weariness, and it seemed to Harry that the man had become tired of living. He had lived through two wars, and was entering his third, and Harry wondered how long he was going to be able to carry on, especially since his magical drain.

He also wondered whether the weariness was entirely genuine.

"I have been meaning to show you these for a long while," Dumbledore said quietly, "and I hope you can forgive me for the delay, even if you can forgive me for little else."

With a sigh he replaced the memory of the Prophecy in his mind, and uncorked the bottle. The silvery substance slipped, insubstantial, from the vial and pooled in the bottom of the basin.

"After you," Dumbledore offered. Raising a brow, Harry dipped face first into the pensieve.

The scene that resolved itself before him was of a pleasant little country lane in what looked to be the height of summer. A light, ghostly breeze ruffled him, and Harry stared curiously at the figure that they were obviously following. He was short and plump with a slight balding patch on the top of his head, and he was clothed in rather oddly cut plum robes, the stitch around the collar identifying him as the head of his house and the orange as having a low ranking position in the Ministry. Not for the first time, Harry thought that the Wizarding obsession with identification and wearing positions like a badge of honour on their robes made for rather bad colour clashes.

The man was bustling along in a strange rolling gait that seemed to balance speed with his continuing vertical alignment, and Harry could instantly sense that this was not a man who had not been picked for team sports in school.

"Charles Ogden," Dumbledore said, and Harry turned to find him walking gently behind. "Twin brother to Bob Ogden, who had at the time recently been promoted ahead of him. He worked in the Department of Muggle Relations closely with his brother on Muggle – Magical co-operation and secrecy."

Harry frowned and increased his pace. He could see a small village nestled in the valley below, appearing gradually as they descended. Harry looked on it, picking out the small roads, and on a hill above a large manor that sent an inexplicable shiver down his spine. However, it appeared that Charles Ogden was not aiming for the little village, and instead he paused at a junction to peer at a scrap of paper before turning from the main lane.

As he continued on, the scene became progressively darker for thick trees grew around the path in such a fashion that it began to meander and become deeply overgrown. The bright sunlight resolved itself into dappled shade as the heat of the day fell into a cool gloom, and Harry noticed with disgust that there was a snake nailed to one of the trees that they passed.

The three of them emerged in a small clearing in the trees, and through the shade it took Harry a moment to pick out the house from among the boughs, for the wood that it was made of blended so well into the bark of the trees that it appeared to have grown from them rather than to have been constructed. But then again, in the magical world anything was possible. Thick moss and weeds adorned the outside, and the loose roof tiles were half hidden beneath a thick layer of fallen leaves and decaying mulch from which plants were growing. The house itself was surrounded by stinging nettles, saplings and crawling plants, so that the clearing was barely a clearing at all, being only defined by the lack of taller trees. With a sickening jolt in his stomach, Harry noticed that another snake had been nailed to the door, the length of metal hammered through its skull.

Apparently Ogden was rather taken aback by the appearance of the place too, because he paused at the fringe of vegetation and appeared to be debating turning back.

As he started slowly forwards, Harry's ears caught a gentle sound on the wind, one that Ogden appeared to be oblivious too. Moving forwards, Harry was alarmed to spot a man dressed in rags kneeling in the vegetation, curling a snake through his hands and crooning. His hair was matted together in a thick mass, and his face was filthy. He, like the house, appeared to have grown out of the undergrowth, and as such blended in imperceptibly. Round his neck hung another dead snake, and Harry caught what he was saying with a little thrill of horror.

'_Hissy hissy, little snakey,_

_Slither on the floor,_

_You be good to Morfin_

_Or he'll nail you to the door.'_

Now Harry wasn't particularly fond of snakes, not after the Chamber incident, but he had always felt a sense of compassion when it came to animals – a feeling that did not stretch so well onto people, particularly when they were of this calibre.

Apparently Ogden had just noticed him too, because he jumped back in sudden alarm as the man rose from his nest among the nettles, watching the wizard with odd, angular dark eyes.

'_Looky, looky little snakey,_

_A man has come to play,_

_You've been good to Morfin,_

_So he'll let you go today.'_

"Y-you must be Morfin then," Ogden began, and then seemed to draw some confidence into himself. "I am from the Department of Muggle Relations in the Ministry of Magic, and I'm here to discuss suspicions of-"

"_You're not welcome here,_" Morfin hissed, and Harry would have laughed at the expression on Ogden's face were the situation less threatening. After all, Morfin was heading towards him with the slow assurance of one used to being the hunter, holding a bloody knife in one hand after having let the snake go.

"Sorry? I…I'm not sure I quite caught that," Ogden stuttered.

"_You are not welcome here,_" Morfin hissed, and Harry noticed the malice that had crept in behind it this time.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to speak English," Ogden said a little more firmly. Morfin twisted the knife on the tip of his finger with a broad grin, showing a wide set of yellowed teeth, before making a sudden, wild slash at the man.

Ogden yelped loudly and stumbled backwards, landing with a loud thump on the ground, but Harry wasn't paying attention to him anymore. As Morfin had lunged forwards, his loose, stained shirt had swung sideways revealing a heavy gold pendant hung around his neck, emblazoned with a curling serpentine 'S'. It only flashed for a moment, but it caught and snagged in Harry's mind. The sound of Ogden's yell appeared to alert whoever was in the house, for a man came barrelling out, running in a strange, swinging gait. His hair was greying towards the temples, and his face was lined in such a way that it crinkled around the current snarl he was wearing, obviously ingrained from frequent use.

Morfin watched him approach with a malicious grin, and the older man stopped before Ogden. Harry watched as his eyes flicked to the collar and cuffs of the robe before returning to his face.

"From the Ministry, are you?" he growled out.

Ogden stood, looking very disgruntled and rather unnerved, brushing down his robes and puffing up in a pompous manner rather reminiscent of Percy. "Yes, I am, and your son has just attempted an assault on Ministry personal on top of his previous charges."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Charges, what charges?"

Ogden huffed. "It has come to our attention that he has recently placed a jinx on a Muggle-"

"You're going to try and do something because he hexed some filthy Muggle now, are you?" he leered. "Muggle got what was coming to him, deserved it, you hear?"

Ogden looked rather taken aback at this. "I can assure you that it is against the law-"

"'_It is against the law,_'" the man mimicked in a nasal, whining voice before snorting. "What are you going to do about it, you and your Ministry?" He paused and eyed him carefully. "You pureblood?"

"T-that has nothing to do with anything!" Ogden spluttered, and Harry felt that he might have had a little more respect for the man if he didn't look so mortally afraid of the two before him. "I am afraid that he has been summoned-"

"Summoned!" the man snarled. "Summoned like some petty little mudblood. We're pureblood, through and through. See this?" he said waving his grimy hand before the official, a large black and gold ring resting on his middle finger. "This has been in my family for generations, been offered a lot for this – more than you'll ever end up seeing in your lifetime, mudblood."

"Why-I-Sir! This is outrageous!" Ogden choked out, inflating his chest self-importantly. However, he was quick to back away when Morfin made a threatening gesture with his short knife.

"Outrageous is it?" the man growled, before stomping back into the house. Ogden appeared quite confused by this, but when he made to follow Morfin jabbed the knife at him again.

A moment later the man emerged dragging a pale, plain looking girl by the wrist. She was a little cleaner than the other two, but her dirty blonde hair was still matted and tangled, and she seemed possibly the most defeated-looking person Harry had ever seen. She hung her head, seemingly trying to will herself to fade into her stained grey dress.

"See this?" the man said, grabbing a gold chain from around her neck and yanking her forwards by it. "This is Slytherin's locket! Salazar Slytherin! We're descended direct from him, Salazar Slytherin himself!" he yelled, and Ogden looked alarmed at the intensity, whilst Harry was more worried about the gasping girl at the end of the gold chain.

As he let her go, Harry found his eyes focusing on the locket she was too busy gasping to tuck back under the neckline of her dress. The same symbol rose across the front, the 'S' shape. He would have to ask Salazar about that. If there were two ancestral heirlooms floating around the place then he'd probably want to know about it. It wasn't like Slytherin to let things go missing.

"This is my daughter, Merope," the man added grudgingly. Ogden seemed to take a minute to compose himself before speaking.

"Be that as it may, your lineage has nothing to do with the charges."

"Charges!" the man spat. "Charges! The man got what was coming to him, didn't he?"

Morfin cackled at this, fingering the dead snake around his neck.

"He used magic in front of a Muggle Mr Gaunt," Ogden said patiently, falling back on an official persona. "And that is against the law. He will have to attend a hearing on the 5th-"

"A hearing?" Mr Gaunt said, eyes narrowing. He opened his mouth to say more, but the noise of light clip-clopping came from down the path, and sophisticated voices rose over the trees.

"-just tear the nasty little hovel down Tom?" said a woman's voice. A man laughed.

"Oh, I'd like to Cecelia, but my father doesn't own the property. Dirty little beggars the lot of them. If it was up to me then they'd already be gone, but you know father," he said, and a patronising masculine laugh followed.

Morfin's odd eyes had narrowed and he made to start forwards, raising the knife, but Mr Gaunt held out a hand.

"_Stay put Morfin,"_ he hissed, while Ogden looked on unnerved.

"Oh my goodness! Is that a _snake_ nailed to that tree?" the woman called out, voice shrill with alarm.

"I told you, heathens all of them!" the man exclaimed, still sounding amused. "Don't look darling!"

"_Darling_," Morfin whispered in parseltongue, looking intently at his sister, who had gone very white. "_Called her 'darling'. Wouldn't you like that? Doesn't look like you have a chance."_

Morfin cracked into a broad grin as Mr Gaunt whipped around. "_What was that?"_ he said, seemingly forgetting his earlier argument with Ogden, who stood uncomfortably at the sidelines, obviously stumped by the language barrier.

"_She likes looking at him. Always stopping when he passes, leaning out the window when he's coming back. I caught her at it yesterday,"_ Morfin cackled with malicious glee. "_Staring at him from the trees as he went past on the horses."_

"_Is that true?"_ Mr Gaunt hissed, face breaking into an ugly grimace. "_My daughter, watching the dirty veins pass. Perhaps you want go with him, abandon your heritage and turn into a filthy blood traitor slut!_" he said, voice rising to a yell.

"_No,"_ Merope whispered. "_No, no, no,"_ she trailed off, wide-eyed.

Morfin laughed again, muttering "_likes watching her_," under his breath. In the distance the sound of the horses and light conversation faded as they continued on. Mr Gaunt seemed to lose whatever shred of habit that had allowed him to restrain himself, and he leapt at the girl grabbing her shoulders and shaking her.

"_Blood traitor! Filth! Ugly little Squib!"_ he shouted.

Harry restrained the urge to try and intervene - always a problem when he witnessed memories. Knowing that he could simply watch and nothing more. As it was, he was relieved to see that when Mr Gaunt's shaking moved beyond the realms of what might be considered marginally acceptable, Ogden drew his wand and cast an _Expelliaramus_ that knocked the man away from his daughter with an animalistic snarl.

Morfin immediately stopped cackling and flipped the knife into a downward hold that was no longer so playful. He wasn't about to toy with Ogden anymore, and the man sensibly fled.

Harry was tempted to remain and see what became of Merope, but he found himself dragged along with Ogden, Dumbledore following serenely behind. As they reached the road, emerging into the sunshine as if out of some terrible dream, he saw that Ogden had run into the horses and promptly fallen onto his rather protuberant behind for the second time that day.

Looking up, he gasped. Staring down at the Ministry official with no small amount of disdain was an almost picture perfect replica of Tom Marvolo Riddle. The senior version even wore the slightly raised eyebrow and careless disregard he had noted on his son. How he could look so similar to the man when he had never even had a conversation with him was beyond comprehension.

"It is time to leave our friend, I am afraid," Dumbledore said from behind him.

Harry cast one last glance at the stuttering buffoon at their feet and withdrew himself from the memory.

Returning to his chair, he sat with a sigh, contemplating what he had seen. It was becoming increasingly obvious from what he had seen and what Voldemort himself had told him, that the people he had just witnessed were to become his family.

"So Merope was his mother," he murmured.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, watching him closely. "Charles Ogden returned soon after we left with a small squad of Aurors to assist him. Morfin naturally resisted attack, but his father Marvolo assaulted and killed one of the Aurors before he could be captured. In the trial Morfin was easily sentenced for two years in Azkaban given his history of offences against Muggles, but Marvolo was sentenced to five for the murder of the Auror."

"I suspect that with her father and brother gone, Merope saw her chance to pursue her affections for Tom Riddle, and they were happily married within months. It was quite the town scandal for the esteemed son of a lord to run away with the daughter of a beggar, but not a year later he returned and was heard to say that he had been 'hoodwinked' and 'deceived'."

Harry frowned. "She let him go?"

Dumbledore looked a little sad at this. "I suspect that she believed after awhile that the man she loved had come to feel the same, and whether she was using love potions or the Imperius curse, she decided to put an end to it. The town at the time seemed to feel that she had tricked him into thinking her pregnant."

Harry snorted. "Well, when he actually left her she must have been. What happened then?"

"They had been staying in a London house owned by Riddle, and when he left her she was abandoned to the streets penniless and pregnant with his child." Dumbledore shook his head regretfully, and Harry had to prevent his lip from curling in disdain. "She sold Slytherin's locket, the prized heirloom of the Gaunt's that her father valued as much as a third child, and her life ended in a small orphanage owned by one Mrs Cole."

"Who did she sell it to?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore gave him a strange look, and Harry wondered whether he'd sounded too interested.

"I believe she sold it to someone along Knockturn Alley, although I'm not sure who."

Dumbledore raised another vial and Harry inclined his head to acknowledge it. Transferring the previous memory to the empty vial, he upended the new memory in the basin. Not waiting for an invitation this time, Harry entered the memory.

When the swirling stopped, he saw that he was in a vaguely familiar part of London. Indeed, although the surroundings were dark and rain-soaked Harry picked out the area as one that he had seen as Petunia and the Dursleys drove past in the car on their way into town.

Turning, he saw Dumbledore and promptly attempted to repress a snort of amusement. The man was wearing a lurid plum suit with little glittery gold buttons in the shape of stars. He was younger here, his face less lined and his hair still a bright auburn, but he looked every bit as eccentric and dandy-ish as he did later in life. As he was going among Muggles it seemed that he had foregone a rain charm, and the water sluiced down his face, dripping in streams from his hair.

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed from beside him, eyeing the suit regretfully. "It was never the same again. The rain marked the velvet, you see."

Harry let out a light chuckle and followed the headmaster's younger counterpart towards a reasonably large building fronted by a tall iron gate. Dumbledore promptly pushed it open with a whisper and a gesture, the lock undoing from the other side. Walking towards the grey stone walls, he rapped sharply on the door.

A moment later a pale, dirty-haired girl wearing an apron opened it and squinted suspiciously at him.

"Wha' d'you want?" she asked gruffly.

"I am here to see Mrs. Cole," Dumbledore said mildly, eyes twinkling.

"The vis'ting hours are closed now. You should 'ave come earlier," she said, still peering round the half-open door.

"I assure you, Mrs. Cole suggested that I come at this time," he said. "It would also be quite inappropriate to discuss such a matter in the rain."

Harry caught the subtle glance and the momentary glazed expression before she opened the door a little wider.

"Well, if you say so," she said warily, before prodding a bitten finger into his chest. "But don't cause no trouble now, or we'll call in the coppers."

Dumbledore's eyes danced merrily. "Have no worries child, I'm not here to cause trouble."

He stepped over the threshold, graciously ignoring the maid still holding it half-open, obviously quite unwilling to let him into the house. He emerged on a small entrance hall of sorts, with a flight of stairs leading upwards, and two doors – one beneath the staircase and another to the left. The floor was generally clean, but it had the look of reluctant sweeping, for whilst the main area was relatively dust free the stairs and the skirting board were covered in a thick layer that belied the fact that they had been left untended for a good deal of time. A chandelier hung overhead, but several of the gems were missing, and they too were coated in a thick layer of dust. Harry got the feeling that they had either been spirited away by the occupants, or the precious stones sold in hard times.

"Mrs. Cole you say?" the maid asked, and when Dumbledore nodded, she bellowed out "MRS. COLE! VISITOR!"

Harry couldn't help but wince at the tone, and as it was it seemed that neither of the Dumbledore's could either.

"She'll be righ' with ya. Jus' wait 'ere," the maid told him.

"Thank you miss," Dumbledore replied with a polite smile, and the girl blushed despite her remaining suspicion before she headed towards the stairs.

A moment later, Harry heard footsteps on the stairs, as if descending from a great height (which he suspected to be true, given the tall, thin build of the house). The sound grew closer, until finally a sharp-featured woman came into sight, hastily wrapping a dressing gown around her. She had a mousy brown hair that was turning to an iron grey around the roots, and she swept a surprised and appraising gaze across her strangely dressed visitor before approaching to shake his hand.

"You'll be Mr. Dublybore then?" she asked, and Harry snickered at the mangling of his name.

"Dumbledore, madam," the man corrected. "You suggested that I meet you for an appointment this evening."

"That I did," she said, still staring with a little shock at his suit. "Well, you'd better come into my office then, hadn't you?" She cast a glance around the room as if she was half hoping and half afraid that someone might see her talking with her outlandish guest.

Crossing the entrance hall, she headed to the room on the left, opening the door and bustling in to take a seat behind a weather-beaten old desk. The furniture was odd and mismatched, and as with the hallway it showed an air of neglect beneath the neat surface. Dumbledore seated himself in the chair opposite and raised a small cloud of dust from the cushion.

"I am here to speak to you about Tom Riddle, and the matter of his future," Albus began. Mrs. Cole frowned at him.

"Are you his family then?" she asked.

"No, I am the headmaster of a school, and I wish to offer him a scholarship," he said, eyes sparkling slightly in the dim light.

"What school is this?" she asked, vague interest lighting in her eyes.

"It is called Hogwarts," Dumbledore replied simply. Mrs. Cole's frown deepened.

"Never heard of it."

"It is in Scotland," Dumbledore added in a helpful tone.

"Hmm…and you say he has a scholarship? How is that then? He was never registered for one," she continued, eyes narrowing slightly in the same mistrust that the maid had shown.

"Nevertheless, he has a place," Dumbledore said. Mrs. Cole looked him up and down again, and was about to say something when her eyes gained that momentary glaze. When they returned to normal, Dumbledore was sitting conspicuously dry in the chair, and a bottle of whisky had appeared beside her.

"Er…whisky?" she offered him, whilst Harry chuckled.

"What a thing to do to the poor woman," he commented laughingly as Dumbledore graciously declined.

"She appeared to be rather sharper than I would have hoped," his elder counterpart replied, not denying anything. "It would have been quite painstaking and troublesome otherwise."

Mrs. Cole showed herself to be no stranger to alcohol consumption, and promptly knocked back the small glass with gusto, apparently unconcerned about Dumbledore's presence.

"I was wondering if you could tell me a little more about him," he inquired delicately. "Some history perhaps."

"History you say?" Mrs. Cole asked, before nodding and pouring herself another glass. "His mother arrived at our door out of the rain, just like you did. She was very pregnant. We get that a lot, see, so we didn't turn her away. Didn't live long after though – said she wanted him to look just like his father, and I can't blame her because she wasn't a looker herself. Said 'e was to be called Tom for his father, Marvolo for _her_ father, and Riddle, and that was all before she copped it." Harry frowned at her blunt relation of her death. Merope hadn't been the most charming girl, but she wasn't horrible either. "That weren't a pretty sight, nor what we should be dealing with, but you can't complain when they're dead, can you?" she asked, starting on her fourth glass.

"Indeed you cannot," Dumbledore replied agreeably, eyebrows high on his forehead.

"Funny name, Marvolo," she continued distantly. "Thought maybe she'd come from the circus, or one of them gypsy gangs. Not a Marvolo nor a Riddle turned up for the boy through all these years, so he's stayed here. Strange boy, is Tom."

"Yes, I expect he is," Dumbledore said, watching two pink spots appear on her cheeks as she stared down thoughtfully at the glass of whisky in her hand.

"Strange things happen around that boy…" she trailed off, before her head snapped up again. "He's got a place at your school, no matter what?"

"Unconditionally, yes," the wizard agreed.

"And nothing I say can change that?" she pursued.

"Nothing."

"All right then," she mumbled. "Don't know what you're going to get with that one, not at all. Strange lad," she repeated. "Strange baby too; always quiet."

"What about his personality?" Dumbledore asked, curious. Mrs. Cole frowned again.

"He's always so polite, but there's some odd things that happen around him that no one can explain," she said ruminatively. "Very secretive, but he helps around the house, stays out of trouble, and his grades in school are very good," she added with a hint of pride. "But as I said, strange things…"

"What kind of things?" Dumbledore gently pressed.

"Well, the other children are scared of him," she said slowly, downing her drink and missing the brief flash of unpleasant surprise that flitted across Dumbledore's face. "When he was growing up he was so timid and they all got together to get him to join in, but now the other children don't like him. Won't play with him at all. One day little Tina came downstairs and told me her bed had set alight when she was talking to him." She laughed suddenly. "Sounds like a fairy story, doesn't it? But beds don't just light themselves, same as rabbits don't hang themselves."

"Rabbits?" Dumbledore repeated with a deepening frown.

"Billy Stubbs's rabbit. He comes crying to me and we go up to find it hung from the rafters…well, Tom _said_ he didn't do it, and I don't see how he could have got up there either, but they'd been arguing earlier…" she trailed off and took another swig of whisky, directly from the bottle this time.

"Then there was that time we went down to the seaside," she said. "We do every year to give the children a bit of a day out, but this time something happened… Tom and a few others went into a cave, and he said they'd just gone exploring, but little Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop have never been the same again. All we could get out of them was where they'd gone, but like I said, something _happened_ in there – I'm sure of it. There were lots of things, lots of funny little things." She paused, obviously in the thrall of memory.

"Nothing else like the fire though," she said with some deliberation. "We was sure it was him, but I think he got careful after that. Strange though, because he's such a sweet boy. I wouldn't label him for some kind of pyromaniac or _vandal_ or something like you see in the news, but it wouldn't be too hard to get the matches from the kitchen. I'm just stumped as how he got it to go up so fast, 'cause one of the maids saw it too, and by the time we'd come back the whole room was alight," she muttered. "Wouldn't know why he did it…children don't seem to need reasons."

"Hmm," Albus hummed, but from years of watching the old man, he showed signs of surprise and worry in his eyes. "Well, perhaps I could meet Tom face-to-face," he suggested.

Mrs. Cole snapped back to awareness. "Oh yes, go on up. The names are on the doors," she said, before returning her full attention to the bottle of whiskey.

Dumbledore made a small bow before exiting the room, leaving her behind. Heading to the stairs, he travelled up two levels before turning down a shabby little corridor. From the look of it, he was bypassing the normal method of finding the boy and was simply travelling straight to him as if by…magic. Eventually he stopped in front of a wizened old door with the words 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' scrawled on in a crooked hand. Harry noticed that all of the other doors had two names on them, but Riddle's had only one.

Knocking loudly, Dumbledore turned the handle and entered.

The room was small and dingy, lit only by the light of a candle and the fast fading daylight from the window. A rundown camp bed sat near the window, although not flush against the wall for Harry could see that the window obviously leaked, and a mild patina of mildew coated the space around it. Nearby sat a decrepit old wardrobe with one door on it, the other propped by its side as if it had been placed there for someone to fix but never had been.

Standing in front of his bed was the young Tom Riddle. One arm was shoved into a worn pocket of his trousers as he leaned nonchalantly to one side, but Harry could see the threads of apprehension surrounding him. His hair was as dark as ever, and cut about his ears in an unruly fashion that made him look more like Harry than he could have ever imagined. Sharp eyes regarded the younger Dumbledore with both distaste and suspicion.

"What do you want?" he demanded. Albus smiled.

"I have come to offer you a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said calmly, unruffled by the tone.

"You're lying!" Tom exclaimed balling his fists. Albus seemed rather taken aback by this statement too. "You're one of those people sent by that witch-woman to cart me off the madhouse! Well I'm not going! Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop can tell you, I never did anything to them. That old lady's the one who should be sent to the asylum!"

Dumbledore recovered quickly, assuming a reassuring expression. "I assure you that I am not going to take you to the asylum," he continued soothingly.

Tom laughed humourlessly. "You can't kid me old man. She's sent ones like you before. Mad as a hatter, she is," he said without a trace of regret or chagrin.

"Have you perhaps considered that these…incidents she mentioned could be magic?" Dumbledore said slowly. Tom looked up at him sharply.

"Magic?" he said, half-scornful, half-hopeful.

Dumbledore nodded over his half moon spectacles, a slight smile on his lips. "You are a wizard Tom, as am I. This magic you have been doing…we call it wild magic because of its spontaneous and accidental nature."

Tom's eyes became very wide and he sat back on his bed, looking down at his hands in wonder. "I always knew I was special," he said softly. "I could do things, ever since-" he paused and seemed to realise his mistake, carrying on almost seamlessly. "I can make people do things, and animals too without training them." Then he paused and looked up at the headmaster suspiciously. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" he asked pointedly.

Dumbledore didn't answer, but his eyes had lost their twinkle. Drawing his wand, he pointed it at the wardrobe and it was promptly consumed in flames. Tom let out an animalistic screech of rage and darted towards the wardrobe just as the flames died, leaving it unscathed. Harry couldn't blame him for the look of malice he sent at the wizard – all his worldly possessions must have been in there, and Harry knew what it was like to keep what little one owned in something so small as that wardrobe, not to mention the feeling of loss when they were destroyed. He had experienced that far too often when his uncle locked his trunk away indefinitely.

Harry also thought he detected a hint of fear in Tom's eyes, and he found he couldn't blame him for that either. Dumbledore had used a very Slytherin method of proving it to him – playing exactly the same trick on the boy as he had on his peer. That look of fear grew as there came a rattling from within the wardrobe, and a tin box slowly inched out of the open door to float over to the bed.

"It seems, Tom, that you have something you should not," Albus said mildly. "Open it," he added when the boy seemed to be frozen in indecision.

Slowly, Tom inched towards the still rattling box and took the lid off, emptying its contents onto the bedspread. The sudden silence that filled the room was deafening, and Harry peered curiously at the small variety of treasures the boy had hoarded. There was a penny whistle, a silver thimble, a miniature metal car, and a spinner top among the mess. They all seemed to be things that glimmered temptingly, a feeling that Harry was most familiar with.

A childhood spent without any toys had caused Harry to find the most ingenious hiding places for his hoarded treasures, only to be taken out when there was no one to see them. This tendency had served him well, and the first thing he'd done when he'd been given his new room was to scour it for a suitable hide-away, thus finding the loose floorboard.

"We do not tolerate stealing in Hogwarts," Dumbledore said seriously. "Before the summer is out, I want you to return these objects to their owners and apologise." He winked and tapped his nose, adding, "And I shall know if you don't."

"Yes sir, of course," Tom replied, face resolving itself into perfect politeness and quickly hiding the traces of bitterness that had resided there before. Harry had to admire his skill, for even at that young age his expressions were fluid, appearing natural, unlike many of the mask-like defences Harry had witnessed on those older and more experienced than him. Had the boy not been slipping up so badly, Harry would have believed his sincerity completely.

"Where can I get one of those?" he continued, pointing at Dumbledore's wand.

"Ah, wands are available from Ollivanders' in Diagon Alley," he said, giving him instructions on how to get there from the orphanage. "Of course, I will accompany you on your first visit-"

"I can go alone sir," Tom said cutting him off. "I'm used to travelling by myself."

Dumbledore looked for a moment as if he were about to protest, but instead said, "Are you sure? I would be able to give you valuable information on the Wizarding World during the visit."

Tom looked torn at this. It was obvious that he neither liked nor trusted the wizard in front of him, but the lure of information was a strong one. Then, after some effort he said, "Yes, all right. Thank you sir."

Dumbledore smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges with faint amusement. "Good. Then I will pick you up tomorrow to collect your school supplies."

The memory began to fade around them, and Harry extracted himself from it, the image of Tom's carefully schooled expression burning into his memory.

---

**Notes:** Yes, yes, I know. Filler. Well, I've had an art exam over the past few days and haven't had the time to edit the important bits out of this chapter. Nothing as far as I remember was taken word for word from the books – I at least made a token effort to alter it. And horcruxes…will they appear? Maybe. I still don't know if I like them or not. I'll try and make the young!Riddle memories new/more interesting from here on too.


	53. Basilisk Parts and Potion Masters

---

**Basilisk Parts and Potions Masters**

---

Harry stared into space for a long time. There was too much information here, too much for him to process all at once. He needed time to think over what he'd seen and analyse it. He needed time to take it apart piece by piece and find out just what lay behind young Tom Riddle's façade.

He was obviously resourceful, and to have such control over his magic at that age spoke of great power. Harry was almost jealous – the boy had obviously grown up in situations as bad as his, but he had managed to redeem himself, turn his skills to his advantage rather than just incite beatings and starvation. He'd managed to fight back.

He was obviously clever, observant. Harry had watched him catch things from Dumbledore's face, picking up clues of what the man wanted to see in him and subtly arranged his features to match. But not too much, not so much that it would seem suspicious. He could already see that the boy was going to grow up a first class manipulator, and do it beautifully and naturally, and almost definitely in cold blood.

He was most certainly careful. Harry could see that he had learnt from his mistakes, never made the same ones again. Spontaneous and not so spontaneous magic had to be controlled, and he made sure that he wasn't seen around the scenes of his crimes, or caught in action. In fact, the incidents they'd heard about were probably just the few times that he'd slipped up.

And he'd said something, some little hint, hesitation that had been barely picked up. _"I could do things, ever since-"_…ever since what? Harry wondered. Something told him that to reveal this might give him a greater insight into the boy who'd grown into a murdering man.

His family…he'd need to look over them too. He was sure that there were books that might mention them, people who might remember. Salazar had told him that he should practice his Leglimency, hadn't he? He'd take up Dumbledore's work and make a study of the man.

"Know thy enemy," he whispered, and it occurred to him that it wouldn't be unwise to make a study of Dumbledore either. Standing abruptly, he turned to the headmaster. "I need time to think. I will return at a later date…owl you with a warning – _not_ with Hedwig," he added with a glare.

"Of course," Dumbledore replied with a faint smile. "Might I suggest that you take the memories with you? Pensieves are not too rare that you would be unable to find them, and I have looked these over more than enough times to commit them to my own memory."

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes, that'd be useful." He briefly scanned the vials for traces of the man's magic before picking them up. As an afterthought, he swept the disabled tracking and monitoring instruments into an enlarged pocket. Dumbledore raised his silvery brows but Harry interrupted before he could protest.

"I'll take these, and you'll let me, or I'll find it in my heart to mention that you have been dabbling in Blood Magic," he said plainly.

"It seems I have no choice then," Dumbledore said with a sigh, eyes twinkling. "However, please forgive an old man's curiosity; what have you been doing for these months when you were away?"

Harry smiled with the first trace of humour since emerging from the memory. "Ask no questions and I'll tell you no lies."

To his irritation as he neared the door he felt a familiar itch in his head that betrayed a Leglimens. The headmaster was nowhere near as smooth and skilled as Salazar was, no surprise there, and Harry felt the first stirrings of anger.

"I'll tell you this one for free old man. On the first day of my Mind Arts class I could feel the invasion. Now that I have fortified my barriers, do you really suspect that I wouldn't notice you?" he paused. "Do that again and I'll permanently impair you of the ability."

Sweeping out of the office, Harry made his way down past the gargoyle and reapplied his Chameleon Skin before Fading to the Dungeons, a smile curving up his lips.

_Now Salazar, care to explain exactly what Dumbledore was doing with that ritual?_ Harry asked as he strolled slowly towards the Potions classroom.

Harry could almost see Salazar's scowl from beside him. _The purpose of the Soul's Bane ritual is to find and briefly bind the target to the caster's control. In a sense, a projection of the Imperius curse with a tracking component combined. He must have been truly desperate to try something so foolhardy. The effects if you had been in the room would have undoubtedly ruptured your mind._

Harry frowned. _Then why didn't it work?_

_I may have altered it, a little._ A small frisson of black humour made its slow way to him from the ghost.

Harry snorted. _I'll not ask how at any rate. I don't think I want to know._

_Very good_, Salazar murmured. _Besides, your stubborn potions professor awaits and I suspect he will require your full attention. We will safeguard you against such rituals in future._

---

Harry knew he was going to have to be careful with Severus Snape. The man needed to be played well if he was going to get what he wanted, and obviously his general mix of resentfulness and intimidated act wouldn't work. It seemed that Harry was going to have to use a little of the arrogance the man had always told him he had in such abundance.

He was also aware that no matter how much he would have preferred not to have flaunted his powers, if he wanted to get the best he could out of the lessons then he would need to reveal at least some of what he was capable of. He understood that despite their mutual hatred for each other, Snape would do his due if he felt it was in his interest. Even more so if he was in Harry's debt. And Harry was painfully aware that if he wanted to have the level of skill he would need to combat the Dark Lord or any of the higher-ranking Death Eaters effectively, he would have to know how to use his power. He might be able to beat them with the sheer force of his magic now, but the moment he became exhausted or they used a spell he didn't know, he was sure to fall.

As he reached the Potions workroom he had been in earlier, he dropped the protections he had layered to conceal his magic and Faded in. He wanted to test his suspicions about the spy.

The moment he became completely corporeal, he sensed a difference in the magic surrounding the man. It was no longer the calm presence it had been, but was alert, ready, aware. Snape had most definitely noticed, but to his credit he had remained as relaxed as he had been before. Harry watched him idly for a few minutes, and he finally finished the stirring, set the cauldron to simmer and in the instant that he laid the ladle to the side he turned and whipped his wand out, hurling a stunner at Harry.

Harry's magic, on guard for that very event, rose up and dissipated it. He dropped his Chameleon Skin, clapping slowly.

"Very good Professor, very good," he said with a smile as his teacher's eyes widened and then narrowed to slits. "I wasn't sure you would notice, but I was pleasantly surprised."

_Excellent reaction time, hmm?_ Salazar murmured in his head. _Now you understand why he will make a valuable tool._

"Potter," Snape spat, keeping his wand levelled at the intruder, although his stance had relaxed slightly.

_Yeah, if we don't kill each other first,_ Harry replied sarcastically, whilst wagging a finger at the Potions Master.

"I wouldn't relax so easy professor," he said with a broad grin. "Not while you remain unsure of your opponent. Isn't that what they say in Defence?"

Snape raised one brow in disbelief. "Really Potter? I somehow doubt that you could have had so much drummed into your skull in the few months you have been gone that you'd actually be able to remember that, let alone tackle even a squib in a duel," he replied scathingly.

"Oh, but you missed me, didn't you?" Harry said, his smile widening. "Still, why don't we test that theory out. You can attack, and I'll only defend," he said. "I swear it on my honour as a Gryffindor."

Snape snorted. "Gryffindors, despite their reputation, lack that particular attribute."

_If only Godric were hear to hear him say such a thing,_ Salazar smirked inside his head.

"Snakes have honour though don't they? I heard Salazar Slytherin was a very honourable man," Harry said, enjoying playing for his mentor's benefit.

_Or at least, I'd have agreed until I saw your collection of poisons,_ Harry added with an inward smirk.

Snape's eyes narrowed further, and then he struck with a sudden silent flash of red light that Harry identified as another stunner. It dissipated once more as he lashed out with his magic.

_Why not give him a show?_ Salazar said, chuckling silently.

Harry laughed at this, and focused on drawing the fiery whips from his wrists. Snapping one in the air before him, he smirked.

"On guard, Snape."

Snape's eyes widened slightly before he sent of a veritable barrage of spells whistling towards him. Harry came rather quickly to understand that Lockhart wouldn't have stood a chance had he even had had any skill. Nevertheless, it appeared that practice had paid off, and he snapped them out of the air, targeting the stronger spells with the flails and the lesser with his peripheral magic.

It was a thrilling feeling, having thick tangles of Dark magic under his skin again, even if he wasn't using anything near compared to his full power. He imaged that this is what Voldemort felt like – constantly holding back so as not to completely cripple his opponent. Just giving them a sporting chance before he took them down. No doubt Snape wasn't giving him anywhere near his full skill – he didn't know that Harry had met with Dumbledore after all, and was probably considering what reward he'd get for bringing him in – but Harry thought he might be able to face him in a fair duel and win if it came right down to it.

Snape as a single man didn't have a patch on Salazar who could send multiple bolts of magic out from all directions, using the very power of the castle itself. Still, if he wanted the man's help then he would have to play this very carefully. He'd need to win without humiliating him - as very tempting as it was. Dividing his attention, he focused on using a thread of lighter magic to sweep over his opponent, and whilst dodging and snapping a rather unpleasant curse out of the air, he reached for the threads of Snape's periphery thoughts.

Most of them were a mixture of anger, shock, worry and a very, very slight tinge of awe. He caught fragments of the prophecy – '_him as his equal_' – and another snapshot of – _'truly like the Dark Lor-'_ – before he decided to edge deeper. Upping his outer magical defences, he delved towards Snape's mind.

It had occurred to him after his memories had been restored that Salazar's method of teaching him Leglimency was rather different to the standard ones, as was the case with many of the particulars in Occlumency. He had realised that he had been taught a very special skill in that he was approaching the topic from a ghost's point of view, not that of someone living. As it was, he tackled the problem of invading his victim's mind by surrounding the person with magic and following the threads until they connected with the person in question. Indeed, the quickest way into someone's mind was through their magic – a force they couldn't block if they tried. Since ghosts were made just of magic and will, this was the only option. Salazar had discovered it only through long work, and Harry knew that most Mind Arts masters were disappointed to find that their methods were made useless in their spectral form.

Pushing forwards, Harry brushed the edges of his mind, catching a cool breeze. Pursuing the feeling further, he caught a snapshot of white sand under a night sky, stretching eternally onwards before that was snatched away and he perceived a frisson of anger directed at him. Resisting the temptation to leave behind a mental smirk, he turned his attention more fully to the fight in time to see a vicious cutting hex tear past his defences.

Surprised, Harry hurled his magic towards where it would impact moments before it struck, dissolving into nothingness on his skin. With a lazy flick, he slashed the next spell out of the air without taking his eyes away from where the hex had hit.

Salazar's spells had always struck and immediately effected him, but this was different. He had felt his magic rising up and engulfing the invading spell, snuffing it out like a light.

Frowning, he turned to Snape. "Throw another spell," he prompted.

The dark-haired man snarled and hurled a particularly unpleasant slashing hex towards him. This time Harry didn't retaliate with the whips, though he still itched to. The spell flew towards him in a flash of swirling purple light, and he focused his magic, covering its predicted impact.

As it collided with his chest, he felt little fingers of it prying against his own magic, attempting to worm towards his skin. Frowning in concentration, he observed as the power was drained from it, crushed out of existence by a greater power.

Surprised, he blinked and looked up at Snape, who was watching him with an unreadable expression, wand clasped loosely in one hand. _No time like the present,_ he thought wryly.

"I'm going to need your help."

---

Severus Snape turned out to be a very stubborn man. Harry sighed, slumping in his chair and rubbing his temples. He'd got to the end of his persuasive banter, spattered with stinging insults, and was coming close to having to use his trump card. He had hoped he'd be able to convince him without the extra incentive.

"Professor, you're an experienced Occlumens, Voldemort-"

"_Do not say his name!_" Snape hissed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine. The 'Dark Lord' is not about to rip the information out of your head, and even if he did I'm sure you'd be able to tell him you're 'swaying me to the Dark Side or something'," Harry said, exasperated.

Snape's face resolved itself into a snarl. "Potter, as satisfying as it would be to spend my time cursing you, your ignorant little mind seems to have neglected the fact that my position in the Dark Lord's forces is too valuable to compromise," he sneered. "I am not willing to lay my life on the line for some impudent brat with too much power to handle."

Harry sighed again. _Are you sure you're okay with this?_ he asked Salazar.

_As you wish, little one,_ Salazar replied blandly. _She is dead, after all._

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Right then. Say, Professor," he began, "I'm interested to know – how rare are Basilisk parts these days?"

Snape's eyes became very wide for a brief moment before narrowing again in thought. Leaning back, he sat for a long moment in contemplation. Finally, he ran an appraising glance over Harry, as if doubting that something like those words had even come out of his mouth.

"Bribery Potter?" he asked, with a hint of disdain. "Though rare, they are not completely unavailable to the market, if one knows where to look," he said slowly.

Harry shot him a scathing look. "I doubt that even all the gold in Gringotts could buy Salazar Slytherin's basilisk corpse."

Snape's eyes widened, and although his face remained blank Harry reflected that this was probably the most shock he'd ever seen on the man. It was as if the implications of the offer had just hit him, and he'd only then realised that Harry was speaking of the Chamber of Secrets. He chuckled inwardly. It must have killed him to know that the fabled room was just out of his reach, the key to it lying in his most hated student.

Running his tongue over his lips in a curiously nervous gesture, he managed to grind out, "What was it that you wished to learn?"

Harry smiled faintly and sat back. "Well, the problem is that the Dark Arts I've learnt are rather…dated." He couldn't keep the smile of his face as Salazar chuckled inside his head. "So, they're nice and all, but if I'm in a battle with some Dark Arts expert they're not going to compare to the modern equivalents, hmm?"

Snape nodded slowly, but Harry picked up some hesitation that had nothing to do with their unanimous animosity. Frowning slightly he concentrated his magical senses to get a better feeling of what was holding the man back. When he caught a flash of one of the man's thoughts, he barely kept a smirk from his face. It seemed that Snape hadn't disregarded the headmaster's suggestion of Harry becoming the next Dark Lord as much as it appeared.

"Voldemort killed my parents Professor," he replied to Snape's unspoken question. "I consider him a role model for what _not_ to become."

Snape seemed to be about to snap at him about the name again, and settled for letting his lip curl. "And when will I be obtaining these Basilisk parts?"

"One piece up front, as an assurance of my sincerity, and another after each successful lesson." Harry paused, sending him a sly glance. He was sure Snape had got the implication that if he didn't behave, he wouldn't see anything at all.

Snape's face remained blank, but Harry could almost hear the cogs working in the man's brain. He was in a rather disadvantageous position. On the one hand he, like any Potion's master wanted nothing more than full access to Basilisk parts, but on the other, he wasn't in any position of power. Harry had an uncomfortable level of control over him, and it most definitely wasn't in his nature to be civil to him after six years of ridicule.

"They will require specialised handling," he said. "Given your Potions work, I doubt that you would have the slight of hand required to harvest and preserve them."

"The magic preserves the parts," Harry replied casually after a quick non-verbal confirmation with Salazar. "I'm sure you can instruct me of how to cut them out. In fact, you can do so in the first lesson, and I'll return directly afterwards with the pieces."

Snape caught the 'it's that or nothing' undertone to his words. After some length, he spoke again. "And why would you come to me?" he asked, looking at Harry with a spark of genuine curiosity.

"Trust me," Harry replied with a grimace. "You weren't my first choice either, but you were…ah…recommended. When I thought about it a bit more though, you were ideal."

Snape's frown deepened and he looked at the dark-haired youth thoughtfully, eyes boring into his. Harry easily deflected the invasion. "You know Occlumency," the dark-haired man stated.

Harry inclined his head. "I do."

"Then you did find a teacher," Snape murmured before his eyes narrowed. "Who?"

Harry shook his head and chuckled. "You know him, but only by reputation. I learnt Occlumency to keep my secrets to myself Snape, and that's what I'll do. And whilst we're on that note, I'd be grateful if you'd stop attempting to assault Ginny's mind." Snape scowled, but Harry merely smiled. "I'll know if you do, and let me assure you that you won't remember what you found there for long."

Snape's eyes narrowed in anger. "Are you threatening me Potter?"

"Why, yes I am Professor," Harry said with a broad grin. "What can I say? I've been turned into a new man, and you're not so intimidating when I know that I could send you up in flames with a flick of my fingers." He paused to observe his teacher's dual disbelief and wariness flit across his face.

"Talking of things like that," he continued. "Have you got any ideas on how I could test the range of my powers?"

Snape scowled again. "What are the benefits for me Potter?"

Harry's grin widened. "I could lead you to fame, gain you glory, even teach you to stop death…" he said mangling the man's words. "But seriously, what more would you want than a Basilisk carcass?"

A grimace crossed the older man's face. "It may not have occurred to you, but there are some occupational hazards to teaching you, even when you are brewing something as simple as burn salves, let alone teaching you the Dark Arts…"

Harry looked at him appraisingly, weighing up his options.

_There is a manuscript in my chambers on the mechanics of poisons,_ Salazar murmured in his head. _I was in the habit of making copies, and no doubt dear Severus would give his firstborn son to even touch it, let alone read it. That, however, must be the limit to the bribery. He must do the rest to repay the deep debt he will owe you._

Harry returned a mental shrug and then replied with only a tinge of hesitation. _I wouldn't normally do this, but…I'm interested to see how you work. You can take the driving seat and play this out if you want._

There was a long pause, before Harry experienced the familiar sensation of being moved back from his own mind. It was less unsettling and unpleasant than it had been the first few times the ghost had done it, but it still left Harry with only feelings of helplessness for company as he watched his body move without his consent.

"Severus," his voice said, and Harry let out a mental chuckle and Snape's look of mild outrage and disgust that he'd use his name. It seemed Salazar was going to be playing games with him. "My mentor was rather a…fan of Salazar Slytherin. He dedicated his life to the collection of particular, rare artefacts created by the Founder."

He paused to watch the mixture of emotions flit across his companion's face. It took mere seconds for the Potions Master to put all the pieces together before his eyes widened in surprise.

"I am sure that he could find it in his heart to briefly part with an edition of 'The Mechanics of Poisones', if you comply. I think you'll find that the 'occupational hazards' are well compensated."

Snape looked at him with a small spark of hope before it was extinguished and his eyes narrowed again. "Potter, you've reached new levels of idiocy. That text was lost centuries ago. You're claiming the impossible, and I will most certainly stand for your lies," he spat.

Harry felt a small coil of anger work its way back to him from Salazar. "Are you willing to risk that you might be wrong?" he asked silkily, carrying a dangerous undertone that Harry had become only too familiar with.

Snape looked torn in wariness and indecision as he listened. Finally he ground out a response. "I am not willing to risk it. But if you prove to be wrong, I want the power of demanding retribution. Swear on it."

Inwardly, Salazar was chuckling in satisfaction and grinning like a cat who'd got the cream. Harry smirked alongside him. Step one of his plan was finished.

"I swear on my life that if I do not provide one Severus Snape with the text named, then he will be able to demand and deliver damage up to death," Salazar spoke through Harry's voice.

Snape smiled darkly for the first time in the meeting, although there was a hint of suspicion thrown in, and Harry growled in frustration in his head. Salazar had provided a very good oath for the potions professor, and Harry didn't like the terms even if he had no intention of letting it come into action.

_Calm, little one,_ Salazar murmured as he retreated from his mind. _I was the one who swore the oath, not you._

Harry frowned inwardly before letting out a slightly hysterical mental laugh, relieved as he worked it all out. Oath magic worked on the entity that had sworn it, not the person out of whose mouth it had come. That was why Death Eaters had always blackmailed the victims into swearing an oath rather than doing it through the Imperius curse. Salazar had given Snape the chance to kill him if he refused, but being already dead…

Harry breathed an involuntary sigh of relief when he returned to his own mind, in the security that it was now his and his alone. Sharing his mind with someone in that fashion left him with a sense of exposure that made him very uncomfortable. Harry could feel Salazar's amused smirk, and despite himself he found it reassuring. So far the Founder had been very fair with such things, and Harry didn't think he was about to turn tail and attack him.

Standing abruptly, he conjured the time, shaking his head at the late hour. Turning to Snape, he said his goodbyes. "I'll be seeing you in…three days or so at around seven. I expect that you'll have something to teach me worked out by then, and you can explain how to dissect the basilisk. In the meantime, I have things to do, people to meet…" he paused in thought. "What's Mercury like?"

"What are you babbling about Potter?" Snape snapped, but he watched Harry sharply nonetheless.

"I'll need to brush up on Leglimency, and there are things I'll need to know…" he trailed off, looking at Snape intently. "On that note, I'd prefer if you didn't tell people about all this," he said with an idle gesture, "and I think you'll find you'll prefer that you don't tell people either. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but if you tell even your precious Dumbledore, you'll find that I know enough binding charms to impair your ability to speak full stop."

Snape shot daggers at him. "Since we're working _together_ Potter, perhaps you should mind your tongue, or you'll discover that there are other ways to stop people from ever speaking again."

Harry looked at him for a long moment before laughing delightedly. _Oh, you were right; he's perfect, _he directed to the Founder. _I don't think anyone's ever threatened to cut out my tongue before._

Turning, he reapplied the Chameleon Skin and simultaneously created a loud crack, like that of Apparition before Fading back out. It couldn't hurt to make people even more impressed than they already were, and being able to Apparate within Hogwarts was definitely an impressive feat.

His next destination was Gryffindor Tower. Fading once more, he re-emerged in the cosy round room with a sigh of pleasure. As much as he'd liked Salazar's chambers, there was something about the Gryffindor common room that called to him as home. He was going to miss this place when he left.

Turning away from the gently glowing fire, he headed towards the boy's dormitories, feeling almost overwhelmed with nostalgia. One day, he vowed, he'd return to the one place he'd ever been able to call home a free man, and be able to truly enjoy being there once more.

Peering around the darkened dormitory, he cast a one-sided Silencing charm and a few concealing spells around all the beds but those of Ron and Neville. Adding a thread of magic to the door to seal it, he crossed to bed of his best friend. It didn't hurt to be cautious.

"Ron," he murmured, shaking his arm. "Ron, wake up."

"No…g'way," the redhead mumbled, "just a little longer…"

"Ron!" he shouted, and the boy promptly jerked out of sleep and pushed himself into a sitting position, squinting at him.

"Harry? Is that really you?" he asked sleepily. Harry chuckled, sitting himself cross-legged on his bed.

"'Course it's me. But you need to wake up before I tell you more-" he broke off, listening. Then a light voice crossed the room.

"Harry?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Neville. How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine Harry." He paused. "I'm more worried about you though. With all those Prophet articles it must be stressful…" he trailed off, and Harry breathed another sigh of relief. Ginny had told him the people who believed in his innocence, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

"Why don't you come over here, and I'll explain everything that's been going on." He frowned thoughtfully. "Actually, wait here. I'll get Hermione too."

Tumbling off Ron's bed, he scampered down the stairs, re-applying the Chameleon Skin as he went. Reaching the base of the girl's dormitories, he stopped and peered up into the darkness. Shrugging, he Faded partway out of existence.

"Well, here goes," he murmured. Stepping gingerly onto the first step, he tiptoed up towards the level he guessed Hermione was on. He was reaching the top of the stairs when he felt his mind separating in the onset of a Chill. Wincing, he tried to take the few steps more it would take to reach the landing, but he was enclosed in a bubble of hazy thought, emotionless, purposeless.

In the distance he could feel the swish and crash of immense waves of water flooding through the castle, clipping the ancient stones at each turn, swirling below in the common room before flooding up the stairs.

He was surrounded in a cocoon of cold, a comforting chill that spread through him, into his very bones, chiming with his magic and binding him in a dreamy state. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned on the stairs and started back down. The common room fire had been extinguished, and the condensation on the windows had frozen. The panes of glass had small cracks running through them.

Harry took all this in as he walked. Feathers of ice stretched across a bottle left on one of the tables. _Feathers…white wings fluttering in the back of his mind…_

Growling, he shook the hold from his mind, unconsciously bemoaning the loss of the feeling. As the haze fled, he shivered with the cold. Wincing as he moved, he made his way back towards the foot of the stairs, bones creaking painfully with each step. Rousing his magic, he blanketed himself in warmth.

This time he didn't hesitate or ascend the stairs slowly, he jogged up until he reached the dorm. Threading a whisper of silence around him, he entered the room.

A low babble of voices hit him. Lavender was complaining loudly, and Parvati was adding her own supporting comments beneath. Ignoring them, Harry crossed the room, looking around for the familiar head of busy hair.

The farthest bed, beside the window just like his, remained quiet. Worriedly, he pulled the curtains open, sending up a concealment barrier around them. Inside, Hermione lay sprawled across her pillow, unmoving and very pale.

Anxiety mounting, he leaned closer and saw only the slightest rise of her chest to indicate her breathing. Her pulse against his fingertips was so slow as to be non-existent, and Harry entered full-blown panic.

_The chill was an intense shock to her system,_ Salazar interjected impassively. _It looks like it was too much for her to handle._

---

**Notes:** Appalling update rate recently, I know, but you'll just have to put up with it for the time being. I've finally finished school, and upcoming exams are eating up my time like nothing else, so fanfiction has had to be put on the backburner. Sorry if I haven't got back to some of the reviews – I have read them, and they're very much appreciated. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	54. Old Friends and Emergencies

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**Old Friends and Emergencies**

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It took all of his resolve not to fruitlessly call out his friend's name in protest to her fading strength. '_Hermione!'_ he was screaming inside his head, as he stared at her still body, frozen in panic, indecision. What did one do in this situation? What could he do? Why had they never been given classes on basic Healing Magic at school?

"Salazar," he croaked out, still looking at her prone form. Her skin was cold, as if she'd already died.

"Little one," he replied, becoming partially visible.

"What…" he rasped. "What do I do?"

Salazar looked at him for a long time, and for a moment Harry was sure that he was simply going to fade back into invisibility and leave him to watch his friend die, but he finally spoke.

"Raise the temperature around her very slowly," he commanded, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He twisted a coil of magic around her lifeless form, tying it off with a command to gradually increase the level of heat. That done, he turned to Salazar for confirmation.

"Use your magic to facilitate her breathing," the Founder continued, eyeing her with cold carelessness that sent a shiver down Harry's spine that had nothing to do with the chill.

Biting his lip, Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his magical senses. There was the soft glow of Salazar, and the still babbling people beyond him, but they were a softer glow, less bright than he expected.

He had a shock when he turned to Hermione. Instead of the strong golden glow of her magic that he had been expecting, there was only a faint illumination threading along her veins and bones. He could see her heart beating slowly, ever so slowly, and felt the strenuous inhalations. There weren't the flashes of thought he expected to find, but a dead space that seemed to surround her. Wincing involuntarily, he tentatively moved a thread of magic, sending fingers of it to take control of her breathing and help her heart. It took him a long moment to get her body to accept the changes, but something about her seemed to recognise his magic, and her own fell back into her bones to concentrate there. Without it having to struggle to keep her alive in the simplest sense, her magic could work on other parts of her body.

Opening his eyes once more, Harry breathed out in relief, the air before his lips misting in the cold of the room.

"Salazar," he murmured, still staring at Hermione. "Would you…would you check to see that all the others are okay?"

Salazar eyed him through sharp eyes before drifting away and out of sight. Using a twist of magic to create a chair, Harry sat down to watch colour return to Hermione's cheeks.

---

Malfoys weren't stupid. They maintained a healthy state of traditionalism and cunning. The best way to stay in society's good graces was to remain with the old traditions. Things that were established traditions were inevitably respected, if not always agreed with.

The balance was to move with the changes, adapt to the times, adhere to the more steady of society's views as if they always had agreed with them. To process a flawless shift from what was steadily becoming despicable and identify and take on more respected ideas.

Malfoys were always on the winning side.

Draco tapped his quill thoughtfully on the wooden top of his desk. He was in the process of considering a dilemma.

The Malfoy family had stayed on the right side of the law and on the Dark side of magic since just after the times of the Founders. One thousand years of careful balancing of paths, ideas, morals. One thousand years of weighing one option and finding it more rewarding than the other. After the triumph of Sir Diagon, their family plied the current powers with good money to assure that the world saw them as avid light-siders, forced to work and fight for an evil and immoral man. The Dark Arts became unpleasant magic, and they carefully stowed away their associations with the subject, whilst influencing certain laws in their favour.

Above all, Malfoys were adaptable.

During the split caused by the Dark Magic users Romulus and Violet Grey in the middle years after the fall of the short-lived Dark Ruler Sandavoy, the Malfoy family judiciously aligned themselves with Muriel Grey, current matriarch of the main Grey family. Romulus and Violet were intelligent, powerful young people, but they had exhibited signs of weakness, signs of immaturity. They didn't bide their time and plan before they acted. A travelling oriental priest brought them down when he witnessed them indulging in Necromancy a year later.

Over time, it seemed to become clear that Light magic almost always triumphed, up until they entered the Darker Years, as they were known. With the rise of Grindelwald, the Malfoys saw their chance to emerge as a Dark family, as they had always been. Their French and German clans had joined to assist the Dark Lord, and they had been rewarded, up until a relatively unknown wizard named Albus Dumbledore had tackled and brought the man down.

The Malfoys had retreated, licking their wounds. Barely a decade later saw the rise of another Dark Lord, one who was cannier, more cunning, more powerful. One who surpassed Dumbledore in strength and ambition. Lord Voldemort, having seen the fall of Grindelwald, researched his time in power and learnt from his mistakes. He grew in reputation, but he remained wary of his former teacher who had brought down his predecessor. He carefully gathered followers, picking out those with particular traits, those who would be useful to him.

And then, the Malfoy family had suffered another defeat as Voldemort fell to the hand of a mere child. Their reputation had been difficult to repair, and a large dent was made in the family fortune as they plied the Ministry with cautious favours and promise of gold.

Now, the Malfoys were back in favour, both in the Dark world and the Wizarding world at large. Lucius was feared and respected in both, and Draco was treated with a similar caution from his peers.

And yet…Draco found that he had doubts. He had been raised to analyse each situation with care, and that was what he did now. He was no fool. He knew that the Dark Lord had burned his way into his mind the night of the marking, and no doubt he had not been pleased with what he had found there. Still, when Death Eaters began to give him advice, companionship, lessons even, he realised that his new master still thought him workable.

And because he was no fool, Draco agreed with him. He knew that his doubts weren't that deep set. He knew that he was laying his life on the line by even considering them. He knew that the Dark Lord searched his mind at each meeting, and cultivated a feeling of belonging in the fold. It was overwhelming, all this power, all this violence that was expected of him. But Voldemort was no fool either. Draco watched as the newest recruits were led in carefully, allowed to become accustomed to the nature of serving someone, treating Voldemort as a godlike father figure – the head of their _true_ family. They were led into violence one step at a time, so that they wouldn't balk and flee like a frightened steed.

Absently, he rubbed his arm where the Dark Mark lay under his flesh like a penny dropped under water, shifting as if seen through ripples. He'd been branded like a common animal. Even Grindelwald hadn't done that to his followers – that had been part of his downfall. By branding them, the Dark Lord had created the perfect method of keeping them loyal. He had them under his power, and by marking them as his they got a far colder welcome from the other side, all because of one little tattoo.

Idly, he traced the coil of the snake as it ran through the skull. Owned, marked, possessed. His Occlumency barriers had been casually torn down as if they were no more than fences. He couldn't find a way to fix them again.

The Dark Mark had been branded on to his arm over the Soul Metal as if it wasn't even there. It had grown back now, silvery and smooth, soft splashes over his arms, a patch on his leg and dashed down one cheek. He could feel again, but it wasn't the same. It was as if he was feeling someone else's emotions, things that no longer made the same sense to him. He was ahead in his training because he could kill without feeling, but he was behind too because he couldn't take pleasure in it. Killing was just the ending of a life – the natural conclusion for that particular victim. Voldemort scared him because he didn't have an ending, because he couldn't die.

Pain flared as if hot wire had been pressed against his Mark. He hissed and clasped his arm before crossing to the wardrobe and fetching his robes and mask. He would have to be quick – the Dark Lord didn't like stragglers.

---

Harry hissed and clutched his left arm in pain. There, just above the wrist where the Dark Mark lay. Eyes widening in surprise, he gradually tilted his arm, afraid of what he could find. He was almost relieved to see the unblemished stretch of skin, but the idea that he would feel the pain as if he were being summoned worried him. He could feel a tugging at the back of his mind, making him want to move, to follow and obey.

Shaking his head, he laid a hand against Hermione's cheek and was relieved to find that her skin was at a normal temperature. He had gradually eased away his magic until she breathed deeply and healthily of her own accord, and her pulse was steady. Sighing and standing, he created a small scrap of parchment and a quill, and wrote her a short note, promising that he would be back to visit during the day, and that she should talk to Ron. Concealing it from others' sight, he donned the Chameleon Skin and dropped the magic around her bed.

It took him only a moment to Fade back to the boy's dormitories, where Neville and Ron sat quietly conversing. It appeared that the others had already gone back to sleep after pulling more blankets over themselves.

"Hey," he greeted them softly, dropping the Chameleon Skin over his face.

"Woah," Ron breathed. "You're not using your Cloak, are you?"

Harry shook his head and sat heavily on the bed.

"Where's Hermione, Harry?" Neville asked quietly. Ron's eyes widened comically as he realised his friend had returned alone.

"She's…resting," Harry said hesitantly. "It looked like she'd been using a lot of magic for something, and because of that her magic supplies couldn't cope with the sudden drop in temperature. She…she might not have been so well…" he broke off. "She was barely breathing when I got there," he whispered, still feeling shell-shocked.

Ron made a choked sound in the back of his throat and became very pale.

"She'll be all right, won't she?" Ron forced out. Harry nodded.

"She'll be fine, but you need to make sure that she doesn't over tax herself like that anymore. Not with the chills going on."

"We'll take care of her," Neville assured him, and Harry spared him a small smile of thanks.

"Look guys, I know I said I'd talk to you now, but with Hermione still…resting…" he trailed off.

"S'okay," Ron said gruffly. Neville nodded.

"All I'll say now is that I have a plan to defeat Voldemort, and I'm going to need your help with it," Harry told them. "It's big, really big. Bigger than anything we've done before. But at the moment I still need to put some things into practice. I'll find you tomorrow and explain everything," he paused and smiled. "And you'll get to see Ginny."

"Where is she?" Ron growled out. "Where's my little sister?"

"Safe, Ron," Harry said, putting a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder. "She's still in the castle, in fact." Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off. "She's safe Ron. I swear it on my life."

The redhead frowned at him. "How…Merlin I'm such an idiot! How do we know it's you, not just someone Polyjuiced as you?"

Harry chuckled. "I promise. You were a real git last year when you thought I'd put my name in the Goblet, and I remember how Sirius mauled your leg when we found out who Scabbers really was, and how when we went swimming in the lake near the Burrow that you tripped and came up out of the water with a lily pad on your head, and Fred and George wouldn't stop making jokes about frogs all through the day."

Ron laughed awkwardly and shook his head. "Sorry Harry, but you know…"

"You had to check," Harry said sadly. Getting up, he looked between them both and smiled faintly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He Faded out, hearing the distant gasps of surprise before he landed near the entrance to Rowena's rooms.

_I'm going to sleep for a bit, okay Salazar?_ He called out through the link, receiving a sense of disgust for his choice of rooms as a response. Smirking, he turned down the corridor towards the section of shadowy wall, beyond which lay the portrait.

---

Harry yawned sleepily and took another sip of his coffee. The scent tangled pleasantly in his nostrils and he let a contented smile cross his face. Despite the shock of the previous night, he was feeling in good humour. He'd done a lot in the small amount of time he'd been out, and some of the more difficult tasks were out of the way.

However, there was the simple matter of the last portrait weighing on his mind. Besides the hints that it might be near the lake, he'd heard neither hide nor hair of it. He'd spoken with Rowena a little the previous night before he'd hit the hay, and she'd reaffirmed that Godric had indeed disappeared outside a lot, but she could give him little more than that.

Casting a smile at the tousled redhead stretched languidly out on the sofa opposite, he pushed his musings on Gryffindor to the back of his mind. First things were first, and he needed to clear up the issue of his friends first, not to mention their little club of supporters. A more Slytherin side of his brain assessed them in terms of people who _could_ support and help. He was most acutely aware that he wasn't going to be winning the war with only Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Neville. He would need more than friends. He would need helpers, fighters and supporters, and not just school children either.

"I'll be back in a bit," he murmured to Ginny, who made a noise of agreement, still dozing on the sofa. Draining his cup, he stood and Faded into the Gryffindor common room.

Peering around the small groups of students buried under blankets and duvets in front of the fire, he surmised that none of the people he was looking for were there. Shrugging, he headed up the stairs to the boy's dorm, assiduously avoiding an exuberant Seamus who came barrelling down the stairs.

Emerging in the long room, he was relieved to find both Ron and Neville sitting on their beds and reading. Casting around the room with his magical senses, he frowned as he found a familiar touch of magic on his bed. Analysing it further, he discovered a simple recording charm interwoven with the magic protecting the bed from fire and destruction. Frowning deeply, he blocked off that part of the room and applied a wall of distracting magic over the door. As soon as people headed up that way, they would remember something pressing they had to do.

_Much like those Muggle repelling charms around the Quidditch World Cup,_ Harry mused, before dropping the Chameleon Skin.

"Ron, Neville," he greeted, smiling slightly as the two boys started in surprise.

"Merlin Harry, don't do that do me!" Ron exclaimed, skidding backwards on his bed.

"I'll be back in a moment," he assured them, using his memory of the Girl's dorms to Fade back there.

He found it pretty much empty, but from the sound of it one of them was in the showers adjoining the place. Hermione sat on her bed too, deeply engrossed in a book, the note he had given her lying on the bedspread beside her.

"'Mione," he whispered, throwing up his magic to conceal them and dropping the Chameleon Skin. He was glad that he had, because she let out a loud yelp and promptly dropped the book she was holding in surprise.

"Harry," she said quietly, holding a hand to her heart. Harry frowned in concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked carefully. "You…hell, you worried all of us last night."

She looked at him, wide-eyed as he perched on the edge of her bed. He was glad to find that the room remained untapped by Dumbledore's magic or any unwanted spells. The idea that Dumbledore had heard all that went on in the dorm worried him. Sure, it meant that he'd learnt about Harry's dreams but…what about anything else he'd heard? Harry winced inwardly at the thought.

"Was it…really as bad as you said?" she said, voice slightly tremulous.

Harry raised his brows in surprise. "Hermione, I thought you were going to die on me. If it hadn't been for…" he quickly changed tactics before he mentioned Salazar. "What were you doing that your magic was so depleted?" he demanded.

She had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "I was working out this spell to alter the weather in a small area, but it took me a few tries to get it right…" she trailed off. "I guess it used up more of my magic than I thought it would."

"Weather?" he asked curiously.

She nodded. "Yes. I was trying to figure out the enchantments on the Great Hall, and then I started thinking about the stabilised weather over Diagon Alley. It's more difficult than you think," she added ruefully.

Harry chuckled. "I know how you can find out how the enchantments over the Great Hall work, but you have to follow me. Go down to the common room and I'll send Ron and Neville to meet you." He paused in thought. "I guess I should get Opa to meet us too. I'll find her, and meet you in the Great Hall. I'll just tap you on the shoulder or something."

Hermione frowned a little at him and nodded. Smirking at her, he pulled the Chameleon Skin over his head and Faded back to Ron. A few minutes later, he dredged his memories of the Slytherin common room up to use as a focus.

It was still as dark and mysterious as ever, but Harry could see little touches here and there that spoke of Salazar. He wondered vaguely how many little secret passageways there were in the Slytherin dorms, considering that Salazar appeared to have rather a penchant for their creation.

Most of the Slytherins he didn't recognise or know by name, but after scanning the crowd several times, he picked out a familiar generally unnoticed blonde head. Opa was sitting in a large armchair by the fire, almost out of sight. Indeed, it had taken Harry a phenomenal effort to even pick her out, as his eyes had passed her without registering her presence quite a few times.

Out of curiosity, he extended his magical senses to 'feel' for her, and was shocked as he discovered a liquid magic, similar to that of a ghosts but so fundamentally _alive_. He was even more surprised when her head snapped up and she looked warily around the room.

Crossing through the small groups of Slytherins scattered around, he stopped by her chair and cast a one-way silencing charm around them.

"It's me," he called out when she began to get alarmed. She relaxed almost imperceptibly, but frowned towards him.

"How can I be sure?" she asked sharply.

"When Ginny said that you didn't like Thestrals in the carriage here, you said no, rather abruptly if I remember correctly," Harry said with a smile. "Go to the Great Hall and meet the others, I need to show you something important."

Opa still looked disbelieving, so Harry added, "I know where Ginny is, okay? She misses you."

The blonde haired girl seemed to waver in indecision before reluctantly nodding her head. Dropping the charm, Harry Faded back to the Great Hall and approached his friends. Not for the first time, he was immensely glad that he had invested time in memorising Salazar's book on deception.

It took a good few minutes before Opa appeared warily in the doorway, disappearing from notice rather rapidly as she made her way towards them, so much so that Harry had trouble even remembering she was present, let alone following her with his eyes. His attention just slipped off her like water.

Feeling that she must be present by now, Harry tapped Hermione lightly on the shoulder and let out a stream of unheard curses as she froze comically, eyes going wide. He might love his friends dearly, but they desperately needed to work on being a little more discrete. Dragging his eyes up to the staff table, he saw both Dumbledore and Snape watching them intently.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he took Hermione's hand even as she motioned for them to follow her, and led the group out of the Hall. Once they were safely headed towards the labyrinth of the Dungeons, Harry sent out a mental plea to the castle to deter anyone following them. Finally, he laced his own magic in a concealing net around them. He really didn't want anyone other than them to find out about the Founder's rooms.

Ron and Hermione exchanged suspicious glances as they walked deeper into the Dungeons, before remembering their argument and looking abruptly away. They were nearing the entrance to the rooms when they ran into an unexpected visitor.

"Oh," said Luna softly, as they turned a corridor. "Hello. Hello Harry," she added.

Harry blinked. "You know I'm here?" he asked unbelievingly.

"You're standing there," she said with a vacant smile. "I was searching for my book on Whirring Cracklebees…have you seen it?"

Shaking his head in bemusement, he looked at the rather eccentric Ravenclaw. "Sorry Luna."

"Oh, that's all right. Adrian Pucey said that it was down here, but I think he might have been lying," she said. "I can see why they'd want to have it though. Cracklebees are fascinating, but the Whirring ones are really rare," she said earnestly.

Harry couldn't help but smile. "I might not be able to find your book, but I can still show you something interesting," he told her.

"Mmm…" she hummed, tugging her lower lip with her teeth. "It does look like you're going on an expedition."

Still smiling faintly, she ducked under his net of concealing magic and waited for him to continue on his way. Inwardly shrugging, he ignored the other's curious looks and made the final turn, emerging on the shadowed stretch of wall he hand become so familiar with.

"Walk up to the wall and say 'Umbra'," he murmured, and one by one the group nodded their assent. Harry waited as each of them looked cautiously around. Luna however, simply drifted up to the wall, spoke the password and was pulled into the shadows. Harry was fascinated to see it from the other side, because even with Ginny he'd always ended up going first. Neville was the next to go, then Opa, until only Ron and Hermione were left.

"Where's that Gryffindor bravery then?" he asked with a chuckle.

At his words, Ron's face hardened in resolution and he headed into the shadows closely followed by Hermione. Still chuckling inwardly, he dissipated his spells and walked up to the wall.

"Umbra," he whispered, and experienced the familiar velvety sensation of darkness pulling him in. Biting back the terror he always felt, he stumbled forwards into the tiny space, jostled a little by his friends. When Rowena saw him she winked, and murmured 'Candesco'.

The door swung gently open, and Harry couldn't restrain the delighted smile that crossed his face as he saw his friends' stunned expressions, nor the laugh that escaped him as Ginny came tumbling down the stairs to greet them.

---

**Notes:** Sort of an in between chapter here – not much to say. Thanks for the reviews people, trying to get back into the swing of updating.


	55. People in Glass Houses

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**People in Glass Houses**

---

As his friends were shown around the rooms by an enthusiastic Ginny, Harry slumped on the sofa and gave in to the tugging feeling that had been pressing mutely against his head ever since he had woken. Closing his eyes, he followed the sensation to the edge of the Void in his mind.

Before him lay a lightly pulsing silver thread, among the various other bonds. Eyeing it warily, he tried to sum up his courage. Taking a deep breath, he grasped it and felt as if a hook had been sunk into his spine, reeling him in.

In a whirl of colour, he collapsed onto a smooth floor. Taking a moment to steady himself, he looked around. His hands were pressed against a seamless pane of glass, the world spinning down through clouds into the blackness of the Void below. He realised with a shock that he must be in someone's mind.

All about him, the walls were made of glass. Everything was, even the delicate plasterwork around the ceiling. Layer upon layer of it, stretching away into the distance and far above him. Stairs rose from the next room along in a confusing, reflective maze that remained perfectly visible. Frowning, he got to his feet and surveyed the area.

He was in a large, formal room that looked as if it should have a long, elegant table in it, but instead remained empty. Above him floated delicate glass candles, each with a silvery flame that Harry recognised as memory. Tugging one towards him, he peered into the flickering light.

_He was sitting on an uncomfortably large chair, holding too big silver cutlery in his chubby hands. His mother sat too far away, and he wanted to go to her, but he knew that his father wouldn't like it, so he continued to attempt to cut up his meal._

To the left of his father sat a rather portly man, the Minister of Magic. Lucius was making small talk with him, and laughing condescendingly at his jokes…

Harry jerked backwards and let go of the candle, which promptly floated back into the air. So he was in the head of Draco Malfoy. It seemed strange that the sharp, offensive boy he had come to know had such a delicate, beautiful structure for his mind.

_Not to mention fragile_, he added with a little contempt.

Ignoring the dizzying feeling of being suspended in a see-through room far above the clouds, he turned out of the dining room and headed towards a set of grand stairs. He hurried up the seemingly endless steps, occasionally pausing to examine the memories around him. If he could find out what had been happening since Draco's initiation…well, there were definite advantages if he could get in and out unnoticed.

He passed mazes of corridors and halls of immense proportions, all softly reflective and very noticeably empty. Looking down he groaned, for the sight of the sky – even if it wasn't real – falling away below him made him shiver. If Draco ever built any traps into his mind, he could easily lose invaders like a horse could shake off flies. Harry just thanked his lucky stars that the boy didn't seem to have had that chance.

Casting a glance around, Harry's gaze fixed on a strange phenomenon that he had missed before. Although it was misted and distorted by floor upon floor of glass, it looked as if there was a large glass globe nestled above. He was almost positive that that was the boy's mind centre, and he wanted to reach it.

As he ascended, he noticed that the walls had gained small, hairline cracks in them, which grew to large splinters and finally holes missing. Looking at the final staircase, Harry wondered whether he should attempt to climb it at all, considering how fragile it looked.

The steps were missing in several places, and sharp spears of glass stuck out at angles. The handrail had snapped about halfway down, leaving nothing for him to grasp if he fell. The sky was open above, greenish clouds tinting the glass a similar, lurid colour.

With a flash of insight, Harry realised just who had been destroying his rival's mind, and felt a pang of sorrow. Voldemort shouldn't have the right to invade such a beautiful place as this, even if it _was_ Draco Malfoy.

Obviously upwards wasn't the place to go, since he wanted to reach the globe that was now far below. He'd even passed it on one level, but although he could see it, it was impossible for him to reach it, and since Harry was reluctant to begin adding to the general destruction of the house, he had been forced to go round.

Shrugging, he walked along the upper corridor, running one hand along the fractured wall. He watched in fascination as the glass under his hands warped and then became solid again. It was as if a circle of it had been melted, and then left to solidify.

Smiling in wonder, he ran one gentle finger round the ripple, jumping backwards in surprise as a door and corridor appeared beyond the glass. Grasping the handle, he admired the work that must have gone into concealing the thing. He would have to try his own hand at it when he returned to his mind. Closing the door behind him, he watched with slight panic as it faded back into glass. He was sure he'd be able to break out if it really was a trap, but it didn't stop him feeling nervous about it.

The corridor ahead of him sloped downwards, winding in between the various rooms. Running a hand along the walls, he was once more impressed at the skill it would have taken to hide such a corridor. Its structure would have made it obvious if seen through one of the rooms, but Draco appeared to have put a lot of work into making it invisible from the outside. His respect for the Slytherin and his choice of mindscape was rising: the place could be a deadly weapon with work.

With mounting excitement, he realised that the corridor was heading towards the large globe in the centre of the complex. He broke into a jog, and finally rounded a corner, his breath catching in his throat.

The globe sat directly before him, thick glass forming it, and the surface swirling with an opalescent sheen. It looked like nothing more than a gigantic soap bubble.

Stepping forwards, Harry touched the surface, which rippled gently beneath his fingers. With a thrill of fear and exhilaration, he stepped forwards, feeling the glass caress his skin as he passed through it.

Only when he reached the other side did he realise that there was a problem.

Draco Malfoy sat in the centre of the bubble; cross-legged with his eyes closed. As Harry stumbled forwards he opened his eyes and levelled him a serene stare.

"Oh, a new trick," he said simply. "They've never got this far before."

Harry blinked at him.

"Uh…Malfoy?" he replied, bemused. "What is…why…do you have any idea why I was pulled into your head?"

Draco frowned at him, and Harry noticed with surprise that silver streaks dotted his cheeks and wound round his arms. There was something about them that called to him, like a memory of a dream that had slipped away like all the rest. Harry mirrored his expression.

"If you're really Harry Potter, then it could be the Soul Metal," he supplied.

"Soul Metal," Harry repeated. "Mercury said something about that." Brow still creased, he stepped forwards and flopped onto the floor before the blonde, peering at his arm.

"Still as impolite as ever Potter," Draco sneered, but it lacked conviction, as if he were merely acting on habit.

"I'll have you know I've improved," Harry said with a smirk. "I've learnt the proper dining etiquette at least."

Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Thank Merlin for that. It's always so unpleasant watching you Gryffindor pigs shovel in the food without a care in the world."

Harry laughed despite himself. "Fine for you to say, you're on the opposite side of the room. I have to sit at their table." He paused and the frown returned. "Or I did before I was convicted for murdering innocents by the Daily Prophet."

"Ah yes," replied the blonde. "I was reading about that. The public are such morons," he drawled. "Anyone who'd even seen a picture of you would know you couldn't kill if you wanted to."

Harry snorted in indignation. "And why wouldn't I be able to? I'd prefer to kill a Death Eater than a dog."

Draco lazily waved a hand at him. "That's because your precious Sirius Black is a mutt."

Harry's eyes widened and then narrowed. "Shit. I was hoping they wouldn't know that."

"Of course they would," Draco sniffed. "Pettigrew told the Dark Lord as soon as he had a spare breath in between the screaming."

"Crucio?" Harry asked with a wince. Draco raised a brow.

"What else?" he asked rhetorically.

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "I would have thought you'd be out and about, not sitting inside your own head," he said neutrally.

"I'm trying to repair the damage," the blonde replied with a blank expression that hid a small flash of pain.

"I saw." Harry paused and looked up. "I saw a lot of things."

"Such as?" asked Draco elegantly.

"Your initiation," said Harry, tapping his temples. "The dreams, you know."

"Everyone did always talk about you waking up screaming," Draco smirked.

Harry shrugged again. "It's true. Crucio hurts like hell, whether you're dreaming it or not." He paused to regard the pale boy before him. "Why did you do it Malfoy?"

The silver eyes narrowed and he looked away. "Did I have a choice?"

"I suppose not. You're father's not the nicest man at the best of times. I wouldn't like to see him after you announce you've changed sides," Harry commented. "Or become neutral," he added.

Draco eyed him with disdain. "Sides and neutrality are broad terms Potter. You use them in wars. We're not at war yet. I just don't want to be at someone's beck and call."

Harry chuckled. "You'll get that anywhere, unless you're Albus Dumbledore or Voldemort."

Draco didn't flinch, just regarded him with an unreadable look in his eyes. "Voldemort," he murmured. "I don't really feel the fear anymore. I don't really feel much. Since they cut it out," he continued, flicking his gaze to the Soul Metal.

Harry recoiled slightly. "Must have hurt," he said, more to fill the gap in conversation than anything else.

Draco stared blankly at him before spontaneously saying; "Do you know what it feels like to have a piece of your soul ripped out?"

Harry looked at him before slowly shaking his head. "As far as I can tell, I'm the one doing the ripping most of the time."

Those silver eyes bored into him. "It hurts like nothing you can ever imagine. Pain beyond pain. Suffering beyond suffering. Taking the Dark Mark felt like pleasure after that."

"It's a thin line Malfoy," Harry told him. He looked away.

"I know."

Harry glanced at him before looking at his hands. "I would have thought you'd be more irritated with me being in your mind."

"I would have thought so too," Draco replied vaguely. "But like I said, I don't feel much anymore."

Harry was silent for a long moment. "Would you change sides if you could?"

That penetrating gaze returned to him. "I'm stuck in between anyway."

Harry looked up with a frown. "How do you mean?"

Draco sighed and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, bearing the Dark Mark. Running a finger along it, he paused and then brought it towards Harry.

"I've got the Dark Mark branded on me. His Mark. It reminds me that I serve him. But at the same time…" he trailed off, and Harry tore his gaze away from the tattoo.

"What?"

"At the same time, I have the Soul Metal," he murmured, his finger tracing the silver alongside the Mark. "That reminds me that I'm bound to you."

If Harry had been less in control of his facial muscles, he would have gaped. Instead, he merely stared at Draco, mind buzzing. Finally he croaked out,

"Bound?"

"Bound," Draco confirmed carelessly.

"Merlin," Harry breathed. "Serving two masters…so that's…that's why you were taken out of school? That's why they cut it out?" he pursued. Draco merely nodded. "If you had a choice, what would you choose?"

Draco laughed mirthlessly. "Don't get me wrong Potter, in my heart of hearts I still loathe you, but you aren't in the habit of using Crucio when things don't go how you want them to."

"I'll…" Harry trailed off, before standing abruptly. "I'll think of something."

Draco laughed that dead laugh again. "Sure you will Potter. I'll mock you when you fail, just like old times."

"I'm serious," Harry said. "I…I did all this, I caused the accident. I have a responsibility to figure it out."

"Thinking like a Gryffindor Harry," the blonde replied with a bland smile.

Despite himself, despite hearing his name come from his rival's mouth like that of an old friend, he smiled faintly in return. "When I find a way, we'll figure the debts out. Until then, I consider it an even playing field."

Draco just watched him. "If you say so."

Inclining his head, Harry closed his eyes, feeling for the familiar tug of his own mind and drew himself back.

---

"-rry!"

Noises came floating through to him, and he let out an involuntary groan. His head hurt like nothing else, and he raised a numb hand to grasp at his scar. Blood pounded like in an irregular drumbeat through his veins.

"Look…" he mumbled. "Just…quiet, for one moment."

The voices gradually subsided, and he was able to think again. Summoning his magic, he reached for a cold, dark strand and directed it to his forehead where the pain eased to a bearable ache. Feeling brave enough to open his eyes now, he blinked, and faces swam into view.

At the forefront of his vision was a blurred mess of colours that resolved itself into a familiar bushy-haired witch. Behind her stood Ginny, a visible scowl on her face, although it was directed at Hermione rather than himself.

"Right," he murmured. "I'm fine. You can sit down Hermione."

"Sit down!?" she exclaimed, just a little too loudly. Harry repressed a wince. "You were out cold! We couldn't wake you up!"

"Yeah, well you aren't in any position to make accusations about that are you?" he snapped. "Sit down and let me think."

For a moment it seemed that she was going to protest, but instead she merely shot him a look mixed with anger and concern and took a seat on the other side of Ron.

_Draco,_ he thought. _So he's bonded to me through the Soul Metal…Salazar, what does this all mean?_

There was a pause, and then the familiar voice appeared in his head. _It means, little one, that you have gained your first follower._

Harry sent back a sarcastic laugh. _Wonderful._

_Indeed,_ was the short reply.

_How did it happen?_ Harry asked tiredly.

_You tell me. Soul Metal doesn't usually create bonds between the creator and victim,_ the Founder told him. _It creates a metal in a direct link to the target's own soul, not the creator._

Harry blinked. _More Soul Magic?_ He suggested.

_It does seem so._

_Then I suppose I'll need to deal with that soon,_ Harry sighed. _I can't just go around binding people to me._

_On the contrary my little one, that is precisely what you are able to do. Soul Bonds are notoriously hard to trace,_ came the reply, and Harry could almost see him weighing up the possibilities.

_But if I've got a Bond to him and to Voldemort, and Voldemort has added his own brand on top of mine, then…_ he trailed off, inwardly raising his hands in defeat at the tangle of events.

_You felt the pull of a Summoning, _Salazar said thoughtfully. _I suspect that Voldemort Marked the boy with the idea that he may be able to override and control both of you, at a reasonable risk to himself. Interesting…very interesting._

Harry chuckled humourlessly. _Great,_ he replied, _a race to see who can master the mess first._

Salazar's delighted laugh resounded in his head. _Precisely._

Harry paused and his eyes widened involuntarily as he remembered the incident that had created the soul metal. _Salazar…I got my blood in that cauldron as well._

He could feel the Founder pause, ruminating on the events. _That somewhat complicates the situation. However, with no other factors it should merely intensify the bond between young Malfoy and yourself._

Harry felt a sick, sinking feeling as he remembered yet one more thing. _But there _are_ other factors…_ he murmured. _Voldemort took my blood to use in a potion to restore him to his body. He has my mother's protection now…but if it was her soul, how could the protection have come from my blood?_

_I can only theorise, until we have more time to investigate the nature of these links, but I can tell you my theories, _Salazar said slowly.

_Please, _Harry replied.

_Very well, little one. Blood magic and souls are inexplicably linked. Blood is the closest physical equivalent to a person's essence that there is besides the soul, making it incredibly powerful magic,_ Salazar told him. _You have some of his soul in you, as well as that of your mother's, which would undoubtedly have an effect on the blood. To that end, the protection can essentially be modified by the use of your blood, and that is the reason that Dumbledore managed to construct some no doubt crude blood ward to protect you._

_Voldemort's soul would have a similar effect on his own blood as it did yours, therefore, when he used it to construct his body, it would have resonated and acted with his soul. You have a Soul Bond with him, little one, and even if part of his soul is not in his body it renders it no less 'alive', for lack of a better term. This resonance with your blood may have triggered a flare in the bond, and recognising the blood in his system it would have been only natural for some part of the protection to be transferred._

He gave Harry a long moment to absorb that. After a moment, Harry sent back a mental 'nod' and asked another tentative question. _And, the pain. Why do I feel pain when he's near?_

Salazar's chuckled echoed around his mind. _The Killing Curse manifests itself as its victim's negative energy and emotions, acting on them in such a fashion that a flare kills them. If you had a negative response to pleasure more so than pain, then you would feel it. Contrary to popular opinion, the Killing Curse is deeply unpleasant to be subjected to, and the victims do not die painlessly at all._

_But,_ Harry began, _but they don't look like they're in pain…_ he trailed off, realising how feeble his argument sounded.

_Of course not,_ Salazar replied scathingly._ The effect is instantaneous. The spell is beautifully and cruelly constructed, and the victim suffers an instantaneous rise of negative energy to such a point where the brain can no longer function, and death is immediate, although all that preceded was agony of the purest form._

Harry swallowed, trying to get the sick feeling to die in his mouth. _So reassuring, _he mumbled in response.

_You asked, and I told you,_ Salazar replied laconically.

_Right, _he said. _Right. So how does this apply to the bond with-_

"Harry?" a voice pervaded his thoughts. "Harry, mate, are you all right?"

His eyes snapped open with annoyance. "I'm thinking Ron. I have…a lot to work out."

"Talking might help, you know," Hermione pointed out, calmer than before but still with a trace of bitterness in her voice.

Harry swallowed a sharp response and addressed her steadily. "I don't think it will, not this time Hermione. I just…I just need to think for awhile okay? Go and enjoy yourselves. You've got to be dying to see the library anyway."

The bribery almost seemed to work, but her expression hardened again. "Nice try Harry. Look, if you need help, we're here. You're obviously not going to speak about it now," she said, showing uncharacteristic restraint.

Harry nodded his head slowly, before looking around. "Where are Opa and Luna?"

"They're in the library still. They just went off when it looked like you were just fast asleep," Ginny said offhandedly. "Luna convinced her to leave, unlikely as it sounds. Besides, those two," she said, indicating Ron and Hermione with a glare, "were arguing loud enough that they didn't need much incentive."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to them. "Look, we're in Rowena Ravenclaw's personal rooms and you're _arguing_?"

They at least had the grace to look abashed.

"I'll come find you in a bit, all right?" Harry asked, and they reluctantly nodded.

"I'm staying," Ginny murmured to him, and he inclined his head as the other two stood. Harry couldn't repress a grin as he caught Ron's parting words.

"-no chance with those two, know what I mean?"

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes once more.

_Sorry,_ he said.

_No apologies, little one. Your friends must be…dealt with, after all_, Salazar replied blandly.

Harry felt something between amusement and irritation at his tone, and opted to ignore the comment all together.

_So, _he began, _how does this thing with Voldemort apply to the bond between Draco and me?_

_One would assume that the young Malfoy is also included in your mother's protection. Although the effect is debatable, considering the circumstances. He is rather acting as a third party to your connections with Voldemort,_ said Salazar.

_Right,_ Harry agreed. _So there's a Blood Bond between Voldemort and me, and another between Draco and me. I've got a fragment of Voldemort's soul, making a Soul Bond, and there's also a Soul Bond between Draco and me, although less strong, _he summarised. _He was marked by Voldemort, on top of the Living Metal, which I suppose is my mark really, and that adds another link via Draco between him and me._ _So really…it all comes down to how the Dark Mark works…_

_Indeed,_ Salazar replied. _We do not know in what way the Dark Mark functions - if it is no different than a Blood Bond, or if it is something more._

_Could it be a Soul Bond?_ Harry asked. _I know you said he isn't a Soul Mage, but…_

_I doubt it. Soul magic requires at least some level of innate skill, and I doubt that he has such a thing, no matter that he may want it. I suspect it is merely a bond of magical nature._

Harry gave a mental groan. _You mean there's a whole other bond thrown into the mix?_

_It would appear so, little one,_ Salazar replied, and Harry could feel his smile. _The Soul Bond you share with Voldemort is of such intensity that it provides a link to your magic, which would explain the dreams in which you experience the Cruciatus._

_Then I can manipulate it?_ Harry asked excitedly.

_It works in both directions, _Salazar added, and Harry's heart sank in muted horror.

_He can access my magic then…_ he trailed off gloomily.

_I never affirmed your assumption,_ Salazar pointed out. _You have a link, but it is secondary, and you are not able to change the spells he is casting in the slightest, nor his magical reservoir. You will merely experience the effects._

Harry breathed a slight sigh of relief. _Okay, I can deal with that. If I'm in his head, I'll be able to feel the spells he is casting, but that's workable._

_And in close proximity too, I assume, although it is not the time to test the theory as yet,_ Salazar suggested.

_But…he…that night when he was resurrected…_

_Ah, but you had not established the secondary and more magical link through Draco Malfoy, if the Dark Mark does indeed establish a magical bond,_ Salazar told him.

_This is just…_ Harry trailed off into an irritable dead end. _Great, I can't kill him without dying, I can't hurt him without hurting myself, and we're pretty much equal, even with Draco as our 'follower' as you put it._ _How am I supposed to get a leg up on the guy?_

Salazar laughed darkly. _You forget little one, that you possess something he does not._

_Oh, wonderful,_ Harry sneered, _you're talking about some 'power he knows not', aren't you? I'm not going to be able to kill the bastard with bloody LOVE!_ he hurled towards the ghost with a fit of anger.

A frisson of pain ran through his body, sizzling at his nerve endings. Harry bit back a groan, but he couldn't repress the shudder. A small, familiar, cool hand came to rest on his arm, and he sent a mental thank you out for good friends.

_Temper, temper, little one,_ the Founder's mocking voice returned, and it held that now familiar, dark quality to it that made Harry want to shy away. _What do you have that he does not?_

_Soul magic, _Harry returned with a whisper, cursing himself for being so stupid.

_Precisely. All of Voldemort's magic cannot contend with the pure manipulation of his essence, the very thing that defines him, _Salazar said in a low purr of satisfaction. _That should give you every chance you need._

---

**Notes:** So here we have a little more Draco development, and even more Harry and Voldemort development. I wanted to put the 'marked as equals' thing into the forefront a bit more – thus the bonds. The chapter title is a reference to the saying 'people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones'. I thought it applied rather nicely to Draco.


	56. Conversation

---

**Conversation**

---

Harry sat with open eyes. He couldn't remember when he'd opened them, he'd just noticed that he was staring at flickering flames at some point. Ginny's hand still rested on his arm as a comforting presence, but he hardly noticed it. Salazar had disappeared for the moment, returning to whatever he had been doing before.

There was too much going on, too much to even try and think about. He needed a nice long holiday to sort it all out.

"Hermione is really pissing me off," came a murmur from his side, providing a pleasant distraction from his thoughts. Harry felt a smile cross his face, and it felt like something he hadn't done in a long time, although he had only hours before.

"She's like that sometimes," he replied softly, so that they wouldn't be overheard, although the loud voices from across the room told them their friends were still busy.

"She could still try a bit harder," Ginny grumbled. "I don't _need_ to be lectured every time I tell her to shut up and leave you alone."

Harry turned to look at her, smile broadening. "Thanks for the support."

Ginny returned a lopsided grin of her own. "That's what friends are for, coz."

"Yeah, well still. Thanks," he repeated, then sighed and leaned back. The sight of the flames moving in the hearth and the copper red of Ginny's hair out of the corner of his eyes made him feel peaceful, despite his mental turmoil. "I'll need to tell you a whole lot of stuff when they're gone," he said quietly.

"Where did you go?" she asked. Harry turned to her in surprise.

"How did you know?"

Ginny shrugged. "That's what you looked like when you were going to help me with my Occlumency."

"You won't believe it," he replied, beginning to smirk at the whole situation.

Ginny raised a brow in challenge. "Try me."

He chuckled and shook his head at her curiosity. "I visited Draco Malfoy's mind." She began to chuckle quietly, and he sent her a mock-scowl. "Start making any jokes about me fancying him, and I swear I'll cut out your tongue."

Ginny sent him a disappointed look. "Take all the fun out of it, why don't you," she said, before breaking into a smirk. "You'll cut out my tongue?"

Harry grumbled and buried his head in his robes. "It didn't work on Snape either," he replied, voice muffled.

"What is it, a pick up line?" she teased. "Although about Snape…"

"What is it with you and him?" Harry asked, bemused. "Snape and Malfoy. Sounds like I should tell St. Mungos they're missing a patient."

Ginny raised her brows disdainfully. "Best you can do Harry? Besides, you obviously have a lot of chemistry between the two. All that anger, it only needs to turn to passion. You never know, you could be in an argument, and then BAM! You're having sex with Snape!"

Harry winced at the unpleasant mental image. "No thank you, I choose life."

"He'd only kill you when he realised what he'd done," Ginny pointed out, but her innocent expression was ruined by the humorous gleam in her eyes.

"Yeah, kill me to remove the evidence of his screwing a student, not worrying about the fact that killing me would be substantially worse." He paused, before he looked at her suspiciously. "Why are we even having this conversation?"

Ginny shook her head sadly. "Poor Harry. It's not a conversation. We're working through your pent up emotional love/hate relationship with your dear Potions Professor."

"You're doing _what_ now?" came a voice from behind them, and Opa flopped down on the sofa beside them.

Harry grimaced. "Apparently Ginny thinks I have secret passions for Snape," he told the blonde.

"And Malfoy," she added.

"And Malfoy," Harry said resignedly.

Opa's eyes widened, and she broke into a warm smile, leaning across to hug him. "I'm so glad you're working that out Harry. I was going to say something, but…"

"Gerroff!" Harry growled in mock anger. "Don't you say things like that when you're hugging me. I _don't_ fancy the greasy git," he said.

"Or Malfoy," Ginny added.

"Right," he said, but faltered when he was met with a pair of wicked grins. Sighing, he lent back and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to win this, am I?"

"Nope," Opa told him.

"'Course not," Ginny replied.

"You're in denial," they chorused, before exchanging smirks.

"You've been corrupting her," he accused Ginny. "And it seems suspiciously like you've been taking lessons from the twins."

"Pfft, 'fraid not," the redhead replied. "And _I_ didn't corrupt her."

Opa smirked at him. "Only accentuated what was already there."

Harry groaned and held his head in his hands. "I give up! There's no winning with you two."

"Admit it then, coz," Ginny goaded. Harry sighed, and raised a brow.

"I freely admit that I, Harry James Potter, have romantic feelings for one Severus Snape and one Draco Malfoy," he said sarcastically.

"You WHAT?" came a shout from behind him. Harry let out another groan as Ron came into view, looking very worried. "Harry mate, I can support you in most things, but this…"

"Why does nobody get this!" Harry exclaimed. "It's a joke! It's all Ginny's evil suggestions!" he said, pointing wildly at the laughing redhead.

Ron paused and looked at him seriously. "Now that you mention it, you always did have a thing for them. All that anger…that's only a step away from loving them, isn't it?"

Harry curled into a ball. "Not you too! I can't believe you're all doing this," he said in a muffled voice.

Ron patted him sympathetically on the back. "Look, I know I said I couldn't support it, but I've thought a bit more now I've got over my shock. I think the three of you would be good together."

Ginny let out a whoop, and high-fived Opa. "Scores: Harry 0, Ginny 3!"

"If they tell you long enough," came a dreamy voice, and Harry looked blearily up at Luna, "then you'll start believing it's true. I suppose the sex would be good though, wouldn't it?"

Ron let out an undignified snort, whilst Harry regarded the blonde with disbelief. Ginny and Opa were trying very hard to suppress their laughter.

"What is it?" Luna asked looking between them. "Everyone knows the Dungeons are infested with Love Bugs."

Harry got the strange feeling that Luna was teasing him, in her own way. "Merlin…this is so surreal," he muttered. Ron laughed and clapped him on the back.

"Don't worry mate, we'll be here to put you back together again after the break-up," he told him.

Harry levelled him with a scathing stare. "So reassuring Ron."

Ron shrugged and grinned. "What can I say? That's what friends are for."

Harry shook his head in amused disbelief and changed the topic. "Where's Hermione and Neville?"

"We left when she started talking about the benefits of Creation runes against Morphological ones," Opa said with a bored expression. "Ravenclaw seemed to know what she was talking about though. Neville was reading something on Herbology."

"Rowena probably would," Ginny said. "Most of what she says when she gets into a subject goes right over my head, just like Hermione. They've probably got a lot to discuss with each other."

Harry frowned, thinking. "I think it would probably be easier for you all if you used Helga's chambers or Rowena's to meet and discuss stuff you can't otherwise." He looked up and realised that he'd voiced something that had nothing to do with the conversation at hand. "They'd probably enjoy the company," he added. "Either Rowena or Helga herself can tell you where to find them."

One by one, they nodded. "Ginny told us how you found these two," Opa said, her face hinting at her excitement, "but what about Slytherin's and Gryffindor's rooms?"

Harry inwardly winced, but maintained a relatively inexpressive face, making a mental note to ask Ginny later just what story she _had_ told them. "I don't really know, and Helga and Rowena don't either. I wouldn't have a chance."

"How can you be so blasé about it?" Ron asked. "Come on Harry, this is Godric Gryffindor, the Founder of our house! How can you _not_ look for it?"

"It could be anywhere Ron," he said with a shrug. "Hell, it could be in parts of the castle that we can't even get to. Unless I get a lead, I'm not going to waste my time."

Ron stared at him in a kind of muted surprise, before leaning back. "I don't get it Harry. I'd at least try and find them, though I'm not so sure about Slytherin."

"I reckon you do know where the rooms are," Opa said abruptly from the side, and Harry groaned inwardly at the change in the mood of the group.

"Look, how the hell could I have found their rooms?" he asked, weary of the argument already.

"Speaking to Rowena," Ginny said soothingly, "I really don't think it'd be possible. She's the Founder of the school and she doesn't have a clue. How could Harry?"

Ron and Opa looked reluctantly appeased at this, but Harry's attention was turned to Luna's pale gaze on him with those strange, protuberant eyes.

"Some secrets are best left kept," she murmured, and Harry found himself wanting to shift awkwardly under her gaze.

"Yeah, I suppose they are," he said more casually than he felt. "Now," he continued, turning to the group. "What's this 'Harry's Innocent' club I hear of?"

---

Helena Sprite smoothed out the creases in the thin paper of the Daily Prophet, and leaning on the counter she began to idly skim the pages. There was the usual news, along with another dubious report of Harry Potter murdering a family, this time one of the lesser known Ministry officials who worked in the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures department.

Helena wasn't a fool, and it would take a true fool to not piece together the parts. She didn't want to believe his proclamations of You-Know-Who's return the previous year, but neither did she believe that the innocent, cheerful young man who'd entered her shop and looked with wonder at the robes could commit such crimes.

Of course, she knew she could be wrong. That's what doubts were reserved for. But still. She was certain about a lot of things, and she was pretty certain about this.

The attacks had a pattern, of course, if only you looked for them. It was her sister Ilene who'd pointed it out to her first, and she'd been fitting the pieces together ever since. Johnny Normansworth, the head of the department, had been killed along with his family. The candidate who was in the best position to take over was one Walden Macnair, suspected Death Eater.

The subtle positioning and seemingly random killings made a sort of warped sense when looked at from a different angle. Even if You-Know-Who hadn't returned, it was still suspicious for all these shady people to be moving slowly up in rank. It had been done carefully, of course. There were indeed many random killings, but under them ran a plan of menace that set her on edge. She found herself unreasonably thankful that Ilene hadn't taken up the position she'd been offered in the Ministry. Who knows if she'd have been alive now if she had?

Despite her certainty about the green-eyed Boy-Who-Lived, if he turned up in her doorway, she'd run, no question about it. Impostor or not, appearances were deceiving, and she wouldn't chance her life, not on guesswork. Still, if there were evidence…

Sighing, she reached for the pen to doodle in the answers to the moving crossword. It didn't bear thinking about really. She'd probably never see the boy again, and that would be that.

"'Snake haired seductress,'" she recited, reading out the prompt, before scribbling in the letters 'G O R G O N' and watching as the words shifted once more. How anyone designed these things was beyond her.

A tinkle of the bell above the door alerted her to a customer, and she dropped the pen to the page and stood to greet them. Business was business after all, and there was time for crosswords and conspiracy theories later.

---

"All of us, plus Chester, Padma, Dean, Cho, and Blaise," Hermione told him proudly, omitting that Ron neglected to help her convince all of them. "We haven't asked Silvia Henbane yet, and Seamus is still hesitating."

Harry nodded slowly. "What are you going to do with them all?" he asked curiously.

"Well," Hermione hesitated. "We've only met once so far, but I thought we could practice defence, so that when Voldemort does reveal himself, they all know how to protect each themselves."

"You should teach them Patronuses," Harry suggested. "If he gets the Dementors on his side again…" he trailed off and observed the slight shudders that ran around the group.

"I don't know how to cast one Harry," Hermione said quietly, making him blink. He couldn't believe that he hadn't shown them yet…but it hadn't even crossed his mind before.

"You should teach us," Neville said decisively. "They need to see you and know that you're not doing any of that stuff. Or at least, that's what I think," he said, going a little pink with all the gazes fixed on him.

Harry hesitated, wracking his brains for an excuse not to go. He really didn't want to turn up and have accusations lobbed at him from fearful peers. Besides, how would he teach them things? All in all, it was a rather universally unappealing situation. Noticing the expectant gazes from around the room, he hummed in indecision.

"Well…don't misunderstand me, but I don't think they'd be thrilled," he told them, edging his way around a confirmation.

"I think they would," Hermione countered. "You can be persuasive and charming when you want to Harry, and I really think we'd benefit from it all. Like Neville said, it would make it real to all of them."

She was looking at him with a mixture of pleading and resolution, and Harry felt his reserves crumble. He _really_ didn't want to, but he couldn't deny his oldest friend her protection, nor could he others. Besides, he'd had an idea. All he needed to do was talk to Salazar about it.

"Fine," he said at length. "But don't expect them to welcome me with open arms."

"It'll work out mate," Ron told him, "you'll see."

"Hmm," Harry hummed noncommittally. "I suppose I should try teaching you now…for practice, right? Or…" he trailed off thoughtfully.

There were no doubts in his mind that both the headmaster, Mercury and Snape would grill his friends since his return, although he was less sure the Potions Master since his threat. Still, there was the pressing issue of the protection of their minds. Whether it was from nosy headmasters or from enemies, they would most certainly need it in the future. That was something else he'd have to add to the plan to teach his little group of supporters.

_Ugh, _he thought, _'supporters' - how disturbing is that?_

"You need to learn something else first," he told them firmly, mind made up. "You need to learn to protect your mind."

Ron and Neville looked at him in confusion, but Hermione's eyes brightened in recognition. He didn't doubt that she'd already researched the subject half to death.

"Snape's a Mind Arts Master," Opa put in.

"As is the headmaster, and Professor Mercury," Harry added. "Unless you want all of them knowing about me, about _this_, then you have to protect your mind," he told them. "In fact, I'm not going to tell or show any of you anything more until you do so, because some of it is just too risky."

"Aren't you…y'know, over exaggerating a little?" Ron asked with a frown.

"Voldemort," Ginny reminded him, and Harry inclined his head in agreement.

"Listen, I've got a plan - a big plan, and I want to include you in it. But at the same time, it would be bad enough if Dumbledore found out about it, but imagine if one of the Slytherins in the junior Death Eater club did," he nodded knowingly at their surprise. "Right. It would go straight to Voldemort, wouldn't it?"

Neville was the first to speak out, although his voice quavered slightly. "I'll do it. I don't want S-Snape in my head. Not at all."

Harry shot him a look of thanks. Even after all these years, Neville was still petrified of the harsh Potions Master. Harry didn't really blame him – the man was _scary_ when he wanted to be.

"I think it would be good to learn anyway," Hermione said, after some deliberation. "I came close to taking Mind Arts, but I just couldn't bear to drop Arithmancy."

Ron looked around and raised his eyebrows. "Well, it looks like I'm in then."

Harry nodded and looked at the blonde next to him. "Luna?"

She smiled faintly. "I'm sure I'd love to learn Harry. You always were such a good teacher."

Harry smiled at her, inwardly wondering when he'd ever taught her anything. Or when he'd taught _anybody_ anything for that matter.

"Oh, and I figure there were a few other necessary things too," he continued, mentally checking off his list. "I think all of us should know how to fly – it's just silly not to when flying could mean saving someone's life, even your own." He particularly directed this comment at Hermione and Neville. All the others could fly, although he didn't know about Luna. Both swallowed and looked a little nervous. "Er…healing potions and stuff are useful, and I think Rowena might teach us?" he asked, looking up at the portrait.

"I'd be delighted," she told him with the ghost of a smile. "It's been a long time since I've had students."

"Right," Harry replied. "And Neville? I think you'd probably be as good at Potions as you are at Herbology," he told the apprehensive boy. "Just Snape's been a bastard to you, is all."

Neville looked doubtful, but muttered a quiet "Maybe," nonetheless.

"And lastly…" he hesitated over this, but it made sense. Besides both Ron and Hermione would be furious that he hadn't told them if he didn't take the chance now. "I think we could work towards becoming Animagi."

"Yeah!" Ron shouted, throwing his fist into the air. "I wonder what I'll be? I hope I'm a lion."

Neville and Opa remained thoughtful, and Luna…well, Harry wasn't sure if she'd even heard him. Hermione however, looked argumentative.

"Harry, it's awfully dangerous to do by ourselves," she began, but Harry cut her off.

"We won't be," he told her. "Remus and Padfoot will help, and the Founders were all Animagi themselves. Besides, Rowena's a Potions Mistress, and pretty damn good with charms."

"Even so…" she trailed off, looking a little appeased. "Registering with the Ministry is going to attract a lot of attention, and we're currently still underage."

"Ah," Harry said, turning to address the group. "I don't know about you, but I'm not about to register." He held up a hand to stall Hermione's complaints. "Look, just think about it - it's too risky. If my Animagus form was known, what good would it be? I'm not just going to be using it for fun. Animagus forms are invaluable for spying." He paused to look at them soberly. "One of the most important things you'll know about me is my Animagus form."

He held back a smile as he saw Neville straighten at the implied trust. Hermione still looked troubled, but she held her tongue. He could sense that she understood his reasoning, even if she didn't entirely approve.

"This is going to be so cool," Ron breathed, breaking the silence with a broad grin. "Seriously. What do you think you'll be Harry?"

"Something that flies," he told him with a smile. He could pretend that he'd been meaning to tell them all along and avoid Ron's feelings at being left out of the loop this way. "Remus and Padfoot sent me some books on it, and Rowena has a veritable bookcase dedicated to the subject," he added, directing a smile at the Founder.

"Mind Arts first though," Ginny reminded him.

"Right," he replied, formulating his thoughts. "Ginny and Opa already know some stuff although," he looked at Opa, "I don't know what your barriers are like."

Opa shrugged. "Pretty good, but they could use some improvement."

Hermione looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You know Harry, you still haven't told us where you've been. In fact, you've been pretty good at distracting us since you got back."

"Yes, where have you been Harry?" Neville asked with unusual persistence.

"I can't tell you that," he said slowly, watching her expression change to disappointment and suspicion. "All I can say is that you all know my teacher, if only by reputation. I know a lot of things now. Far more than I'd ever learn here, and I want to help teach you them."

Hermione opened her mouth and then shut it again, seeming a little dismayed. It seemed that in his absence she'd become a little more prepared to listen to what he had to say.

Still, it didn't hurt to placate her. "Look, Hermione, I promise that I'll tell you as soon as I can, but at the moment that's just not possible. It's not that I don't trust you, any of you. It'll never be that. But in the end it's his decision to reveal himself, not mine."

She regarded him steadily. "I understand," she said quietly. "But you'd better tell us eventually, or I'll have your head."

Harry grinned. "I wouldn't expect any less. Now, Occlumency."

He began to explain the basics two the four who didn't know, running over the time difference in the mind, the focus on clearing thought and simply existing in a place or image of your choice, and some of the particulars of a mindscape.

"It can be beautiful you know. Sprawling forests and mountains," he caught Ginny's eyes with a wink, "a place built completely out of clouds, or even deep under the water. You can do anything in your mind, once you know how, and it's incredibly liberating. It's a very particular weave of the physical protections in your mind, and magical ones. It's because of that that anyone can become a Mind Arts Master, even Muggles, although it's far more difficult for them to properly protect themselves. You can build complex traps and defences, and you can construct beautiful structures, and even creatures."

Ron's eyes, which had become glazed as he talked, brightened considerably at the mention of traps, whereas both Neville and Hermione were looking very excited. Luna was simply regarding him with the same dreamy expression as she always did.

"Professor Mercury always taught us as if the mind was a weapon, you know," Opa drawled from beside him.

"Yeah, it's a shame too. But that's what formal teaching's like, I suppose. I mean, it _is_ - you can't just build pretty structures, but that's only part of it." Shrugging, he continued on to lay out the basics for picking a place to begin with. "It's best to pick somewhere that isn't real, like the Burrow or Hogwarts, because firstly that can have some strange effects if you start altering it, and also because anyone who's visited will know their way around. If you have problems creating an image, then maybe it could be a world built of scents, or sounds."

Hermione's slight frown disappeared and she nodded. "Close your eyes and clear your head. Focus on finding an image. Concentrate on nothing but that image, and pick a strong place, because it will be built on and improved. Pick something that feels utterly comforting and supporting to you, somewhere you feel at home."

One by one, their eyes closed, and Harry watched as their breathing became deeper and more regulated. Even the normally distracted Ron seemed to be concentrating on the routine. After a few minutes, the frown began to fade from his brow, and he relaxed back into the sofa. Harry watched them for a few minutes more before turning to Opa and speaking softly.

"Would you let me check your mental defences and perhaps help you improve them?" he asked, watching as the Slytherin tensed. "I promise I'll touch nothing without permission."

"Touch nothing," she warned him after a hesitant pause. Harry nodded in agreement.

"You can handle them if they have problems, can't you Merry?" he asked Ginny.

"'Course," she said with a grin at the nickname. "Underestimating me?"

Harry chuckled. "Never. See you in a bit."

Closing his eyes, he relaxed back into a comfortable position on the sofa and slowly honed his magical senses towards Opa. He could sense her trepidation, but also an underlying curiosity. It didn't take a genius to understand that she was an intensely private person, what with her spectre blood. That strange, ghostly magic of hers clung around her form and shifted defensively whenever his own encountered it.

Reaching for her magic to enter her mind proved to be rather more difficult than he had anticipated. It shifted beneath his touch, swirling violently in a manner that left him with no way to get a purchase on the slippery surface. He didn't feel it would be right to start trying to sink hooks into it, so it appeared that he was going to have to enter her mind the traditional way.

With an inward sigh, he caught a trail of thought and followed it back towards the source, not dawdling, but not hurrying so much as to alarm her. The magic made a sudden move to intercept him, but at the last moment moved aside. Harry sent a mental 'thank you' to it, and then blinked.

He was standing in an exact duplicate of his own mind. Looking around in confusion, he began to wonder if he'd done something wrong. Perhaps he'd wound up back in his own head? It seemed unlikely, but mistakes could happen, he supposed.

"So this is your mind," came a voice from beside him, making him jump.

Turning, he found a blonde-haired girl staring at him from washed out green eyes. Blinking, he drank in her appearance, seeing her as she really was for the first time.

"So that's why you didn't want me to see your mind," he breathed. Opa shrugged.

"I reasoned that since you saw me so well anyway, there wasn't much point," she murmured, looking slightly abashed. "Sorry about that by the way, it's just that…"

"I know, don't worry," Harry reassured her. "I just didn't know I shouldn't be able to see you properly in the first place." He returned her slight smile and looked around in wonder. "So how did you do this?" he asked. "It can't exactly be coincidence."

"Oh, it isn't at all," she said with a satisfied expression. "It's like my magic – you'll never see my real mind."

"Just a reflection," Harry whispered. "That's…that's really impressive," he said with awe. Just the idea of trying to construct such a thing made him groan at the work and planning it must have taken.

"It came pretty naturally, to be honest," she told him. "Besides, I worked on it with my family's help over the Christmas holidays."

"How does it work?" he asked. "Besides reflecting it, I mean. Are the structures and traps the same?"

"Some of them look like their own traps," she said. "But the beautiful part is, that if I'm able to reflect the effects, then they're coded to me, meaning that when they walk over ones they expect to be unreactive, they fire on them."

"A false sense of security then," he said, nodding. "This is a really good concept. Really good."

Opa silently accepted the praise and began to stroll towards the labyrinth of tunnels that Harry knew so well. "Other than their traps, I built my own around the illusion. It's sort of hard to describe," she said thoughtfully. "There's the reflection, but my mind exists in exactly the same place at exactly the same time, if that makes sense to you."

Harry made a vague noise of agreement, examining the copy as he went. It was perfect, down to every last detail. "Very Slytherin," he commented.

Opa smirked. "Of course."

"So you can see both then?" he guessed, and was rewarded with a nod. "Your defences are pretty good…very good," he corrected, "but they've still got flaws."

Opa acknowledged this with another inclination of her head, and Harry continued. "For instance if I could figure that out, and I know that any other invaders won't know about the dual mind thing, but if I could, then it becomes obvious that there are two paths I could take to destroy your mind."

"One is through the reflection. It probably wouldn't take long for Voldemort to figure out that this is what it is, and when he does, he'll probably think to destroy the walls around him." Harry paused, looking thoughtful. "I'm not sure how strong the reflection is," he admitted, "and I'm not about to test it by trying to tear it down."

Opa looked at him with a little reluctance in her eyes, and kicked a pebble along the tunnel. "It's about as strong as paper at the moment."

"Right," Harry said. "So you need to make it stronger, or figure out a way to stop people wanting to destroy it. That, however, brings me onto my second point, and that's that an invader might go through you. Not sure how," he admitted, "but it wouldn't take a genius to make a way."

"I know," she murmured. "I was trying to think of a way to transfer whatever damage the enemy does to the reflection to their own mind, but I couldn't figure it out."

Harry became thoughtful. The idea certainly had merit, but executing it would be very difficult. Perhaps some kind of creature that slipped into the enemy's mind when it was distracted, or an open ended bond, or…

"I'll think about it," he said with a frown. "It's a good idea, but I don't know how it would work. For now though, have you put up any barriers around your own mind?"

Opa frowned. "I tried, but they always stayed static rather than shifting with the changes. I eventually took them down, because I couldn't fix them."

"Okay," Harry said, taking an inventory of what needed to be altered. "We need to work on making those barriers so that they move, so that even if they break through the reflection they won't be able to get into your mind. And then we need to try and figure out a way to make the damage affect your opponent's mind. Right then…what first?"

Harry helped her in much the same way that he had helped Ginny. He realised as he instructed her on how to create liquid barriers that he was unconsciously drawing on and mimicking Salazar's teaching. _Which is no bad thing,_ he mused. Slytherin had indeed been a very proficient mentor. Still was a proficient mentor, because Merlin knew Harry still had a lot to learn.

Eventually, after creating several substances that didn't meet the requirements, they settled on a quicksilver like material, which with a little magical encouragement would remain in a shape. The problems came however, when they tried to attach the barriers so that they became part of the same shifting complex as her mind, allowing them to move and rearrange themselves. This was mostly difficult because Harry was unable to see her mind, and had to instruct her mainly on guesswork.

Brain aching, Harry leaned against the wall and massaged his temples. He had ideas, but each he tried out merely seemed to narrow the list. Opa didn't look much better. Her usually unreadable face wore an expression of boredom and weariness.

Harry found himself rather entranced by her. It was as if he had been seeing her perpetually out of focus, and unlike everyone else, he'd realised it. Seeing what she really looked like filled him with a kind of vague wonder. It was not that there was anything intriguing about her face, merely that she was so deceptively hidden. She held the ability to fade from notice, one that he'd craved all his life long, and it made him in awe of her, rather than jealous, as he would have expected.

Her hair was cut short, and a little fluffy. Her face was heart shaped, as he had noticed before, but the mix-match of features on it were now thrown into stark relief against the indistinguishable face she showed the world. Just as in that carriage when he had first met her, he couldn't call her pretty or ugly, but the strange combination of features seemed to defy definition.

She turned to him, and he was struck by her eyes. They had a luminous quality, like the mirrored eyes of cats or wolves that caught light and reflected it back at you in the darkness.

"Yes?"

Blinking, Harry tore his gaze away. "Sorry, it's just a little strange seeing you properly."

"I can imagine," she said dryly.

Harry chuckled a little. "I suppose you're not exactly going to be hosting mental parties here." He paused as an idea hit him. "What happens when you have more than one person in your head?" he asked with a frown.

She shrugged lightly. "I don't know. I haven't tried yet. I suppose we'll see when we come to it."

"And if you faint, or are asleep?" he continued.

"All these questions," she chuckled. "I don't know, really. We should check at some point though. That's what spells are for," she told him with a grin.

"Ah," he chuckled. "I get to knock you out in payment for your teasing."

"You've got to admit, it was funny," said Opa.

Harry scowled. "Was not," he grumbled, but his eyes glinted with mirth.

"Sure it wasn't," she teased.

"Huh," Harry grunted in mock-irritation. "Get back to work you layabout."

---

**Notes:** Wrote this quite awhile ago, and didn't have time for more than spelling/grammar corrections, so please excuse the teasing. I know it's getting rather tired by now. Next update should be up by Friday.


	57. Fate's Joke

---

**Fate's Joke**

---

Blinking the sleepiness out of his eyes, Harry yawned before the sound changed into a groan. He was greeted with the usual, unpleasant sensation of not being able to feel his extremities, and not for the first time he wondered whether there was a way to make his body move of its own accord as it did in sleep. He could really do without the numbness every time he did extensive mind-work.

Checking the time, he realised that they'd been out for nearly four hours. At some point Ginny had obviously considered that her friends wouldn't be waking any time soon, and had disappeared into her own mind.

With a thrill of pride, he saw that not one of his friends was conscious or sitting around waiting for the others to wake up. He'd left Opa to securing the barriers she'd made to her own mind, since there was little he could help her with. His mind was already buzzing with the possibilities of improving her mind, in the same way it had when he was exploring Draco's glass house in the sky. He chuckled to himself and briefly wondered whether he was going to end up teaching the Mind Arts in the future.

If he didn't get killed, of course.

With a sigh, he flexed his fingers, watching the ripple of tendons as they moved under the skin. He was oddly pale from not having seen real sunlight for the months of his isolation - something he resolved wasn't so good.

Groaning, he looked around the peaceful expressions of his friends. Visiting the other's minds had given him a few ideas. Primarily, he wanted to create an 'outside' or 'over ground' for his mindscape. Being in Ginny's mind had reminded him what a joy seeing sunlight was, and as much as he loved the twisting catacombs of his own mind, he could admit that they were a little dark and depressing.

On another note, his and Ginny's discovery of being able to 'eat' memories and thoughts had given him the perfect way of holding secret meetings. He wasn't even sure that you could have more than one person in your mind at once, but it wouldn't hurt to try. He trusted all of the people in the room with him enough to let them into his head, and he was pretty sure that they felt the same.

If that were possible then he'd need a comfortable place for them to meet. With that in mind, he retreated from the warm room into the labyrinth of tunnels.

Breathing a sigh of happiness at the feeling of homecoming, he stepped forwards into the cave-like structure. The air before him misted with his exhalations, reminding him of the refreshingly cold temperature of the place. It wouldn't hurt to fit some lights in, but he liked the temperature as it was.

With a burst of inspiration, he set about on a new project. Choosing a comfortable rock to perch on, he began to think. He'd long wanted a creature to guard the tunnels, so why couldn't he have one that created light as well? He was vividly reminded of fireflies, and decided to begin his construction with them.

As he'd predicted, creating something with a semblance of independent thought was far more difficult than anything he'd done before. The basic design was intricate and complex, but wasn't so hard to pull off. He made a delicate, light-limbed insect with round globe like eyes and an abdomen that ended in a bulb shape where he intended to fit the light. Then came the broad, gossamer thin wings, complete with tiny, as yet empty veins running through them.

The veins and bulb weren't hard to fill with a liquid that glowed with a soft turquoise light, but actually animating the creature proved to be difficult. He could make it flap its wings and move its legs, but it didn't look right. Even when he'd managed to make the main controls move in a certain way it was still driven by him, not its own internal impetus.

After an long time spent fiddling with no real results in that department, he gave up and decided to set it aside for another time when he was feeling a little more creative. Standing and stretching, he decided to continue with an easier task.

Taking a left turn, he headed into a largely unused area of tunnels. He had noticed over time that the majority of the places he used to store memory were on the right hand side of the main tunnel, as were the various bonds and links into the Void. As it was, he wanted to make use of a different part of his head.

If he were going to hold meetings in his head, he would need a 'public' area to his mind so that his friends didn't encounter anything they shouldn't. So, as he went along he worked to broaden the tunnels, turning them into corridors with high, arched ceilings that morphed in roughly cut shapes out of the stone walls. He particularly liked the arches, and interspersed them at regular intervals as he went along, creating crude but pleasant shapes. Where other corridors joined the one he was working on, he made them look more uniform, levelling the floors and creating curved corners.

After modifying a large section of the tunnels, he moved back to what he judged was the centre of the newly created corridors. Locating a relatively bare patch of wall with no other corridors behind it proved difficult, but Harry came to a conclusion that made him shake his head at not thinking of it first.

He was a wizard after all. Especially in his own mind, there was no reason to pay attention to physics or any of that. There didn't _need_ to be space for a new room, because he would make space.

Sighing, he placed his hands on the wall and focused on pushing inwards rather than slipping through the stone as was his want. The stone slowly bent, caving under his hands as he braced himself to push it. Inch by inch it moved, until there was a sizeable alcove. Continuing on, Harry used his magic to spread out around him, and just as his hands were pushing the wall, his magic gently pressed the alcove into a small space, and finally into a gradually widening circular room.

When it was finally at the size that he had imagined it, Harry stepped back from the wall and came to stand in the centre. The room was large, large enough to fit thirty or forty people in at a tight squeeze, with high, flat walls that merged with a flat, rocky ceiling.

He would have to do something about that.

Looking appraisingly at the ceiling, he reached out with his magic and gently pushed and prodded it into its new shape. When he was finished, it was high and arched like the corridors outside, rising into a dome. The arches still had a relatively jagged, uncut quality where they met the stone of the walls, but Harry found that he liked that. It was as if the sculptor had got bored of working before he'd had to do any intricate carving on the cornicing.

Sighing in satisfaction, Harry turned his attention to the floor. Levelling it didn't take long, and he left it a little rough around the edges just like everything else.

Now all he had to do was add furniture.

As he was raising one of the table legs from the floor, Harry flinched as a sudden noise echoed through his mind like a gong.

"Harry!"

The subject himself couldn't help but wince at Hermione's unskilful projection of thought. Loosing concentration, the currently liquid formation of stone fell back into the floor, moulding with it. Cursing at his loss of concentration, Harry sighed and prepared to leave his mind.

Opening his eyes, he saw Hermione sitting very close, and looking at him very intently.

"What is it?" he croaked out, coughing to clear his throat. The bushy haired witch backed away looking a little sheepish.

"Well, uh, we're all awake now, and none of us were sure how to bring you back," she told him.

Looking around, Harry saw that this was true. His friends were all regarding him with open eyes from their seats.

"You're the one who knows most about Leglimency then?" he asked. Hermione blushed and sat back down.

"I did a bit of light reading," she said modestly. Harry repressed a chuckle at her definition of 'light reading'.

"Well," he began with a smirk, "it was right, but it was also very loud."

"I haven't really practised that much," she admitted. "I just made a guess from the things I'd read."

Harry nodded. "You did well for a first try then. Why don't you have another go, but a little quieter this time."

Hermione nodded nervously under the looks of her friends, and Harry soon received another thunderous 'Harry!' that rang around his head. Suppressing a wince for her sake, he nodded encouragingly.

"Okay, good, but it still sounds like Ron trying to use a telephone," he joked.

Hermione laughed a little at that, to his relief, while Ron's ears became pink.

"How was I supposed to know how they work?" he grumbled.

Harry shook his head, repressing laugher. "Never mind Ron." Turning his attention to the whole group, he continued. "There are two methods to Leglimency, although to the general public there's only one. The first way, and this is the commonly used one, is to sort of give your thoughts a magical 'boost' to propel them into someone else's head. You can either do that with memories, speech, or your mind. If you want to search through someone's memories, then you sort of 'throw' a dart of magic at them, and the things they see are fed back to your. If you want to enter their mind, then your propel your 'mental self' forwards with a burst of magic."

Pausing to see that they'd understood, he continued on.

"Now, the almost universally unknown way is not only more difficult but more rewarding. It's far subtler, and your target is far less likely to notice the invasion." Expanding his magical senses, Harry continued his lesson in their minds, drawing forth several gasps. '_You expand you magic until it engulfs the subject, and use it to transmit thoughts along, rather than just hurling them at the person and hoping they hit. The problem with the traditional method of Leglimency is that you need eye contact or at the very least to be able to see the person. With this method, you can do it with your eyes closed or through a wall, because your magic is surrounding them and you're not just 'aiming' for the person.'_

"Got that?" he asked out loud, allowing a pleased smile cross his face at their various stunned expressions. Even Luna was looking marginally surprised.

"That's…" Hermione trailed off. "Do you know how valuable that sort of information is?"

"Yes, actually," Harry said. "That's why I'm only telling you guys, and I'm only going to teach you guys. It gives you an advantage over your opponents, and it's that advantage that's so important."

"Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought," Neville said.

Harry sobered a little. "I have. There's going to be a war, and we'll need all the help we can get so we can end it quickly."

Neville swallowed nervously and sat back. "I'll stand by you Harry," he said quietly.

"We're with you mate," Ron said seriously.

"All the way, coz," Ginny told him. Hermione inclined her head.

"I think I stand for all of us when I say that we all will," Opa spoke with a lopsided grin. "Merlin knows why though. I suppose you just inspire hope, hmm?"

Harry gave them a genuinely grateful smile. He realised he'd rather selfishly assumed that they'd stand by him, but hearing it said out loud made it real. Even Opa, who he'd only known for a brief time was willing to do so. It filled him with a warm glow of happiness and pride for his friends.

"Thanks guys, really thanks," he murmured. "In return I'll do the best I can to make sure that you and your families are kept safe."

"That was very generous of you Harry," said Luna with a distant expression.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Not really. Just a fair exchange I suppose. Now," he said, getting back on topic before his heart burst with pride and love for his friends and he ended up crying or something equally sappy. "How did everyone get along?"

"I finished attaching the barriers," Opa said. Harry nodded.

"Good. You can build on them yourself now then. Neville?" he asked.

Neville's eyes brightened and his expression became slightly dreamy. "I wish I'd taken Mind Arts now. You start off just like you're imagining a place, and then it suddenly becomes almost real, you know?"

"I know," Harry told him a smile playing about his lips at the other boy's wonder. "I'm guessing your mind has plants in it?"

Neville looked embarrassed. "You know me. Yeah, it does."

Harry nodded again and turned to Ron.

"I think it went well," he told them a little self-consciously. "I…there's…" he hesitated before seeming to change his mind. "Yeah, it went well."

Harry gave him the same nod and made a mental note to ask him about it later. "Hermione?"

He was treated with one of her rare, genuine smiles. "Great Harry, really great. It's not much at the moment, but I've got some ideas. Do you…do you think you can take a look one day and tell me what you think?"

"Sure," Harry replied. "But knowing you it'll all be completely finished and you'll be worrying whether you've made the defences strong enough."

Hermione blushed a little. "Well, not really. Just tell me what you think, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. "Luna?"

She turned those strange eyes towards him with a faint smile. "It won't work on me Harry." She turned her head up to look at the ceiling. "The sunshine's nice today though."

Harry frowned a little and tentatively reached towards her mind with a tendril of magic. The instant he connected, floods of images poured into his head, concepts overwhelming him so violently that he had to pull away in a hurry. She fixed him with that smile and he returned his own weak imitation.

"Somehow Luna, I don't think you need any more defences than you already have," he muttered.

Luna frowned slightly. "But Harry, I don't have any defences."

Harry looked at her bemusedly. "Trust me, people are going to have a hard time invading your head."

"If you say so Harry," she said with a shrug, idly twirling on her bottle cap earrings with one hand.

"How about you coz?" Harry asked the redhead to his left. "Finished the ravine?"

"Yep. I made a few of the trees and things react so that they trip people, and some of the shadows will now drop the person straight into the Void," she told him. Harry smiled.

"Good," he said, pausing to think. "You could build some caves into the mountainside if you wanted, too. Just experiment I suppose."

Turning back to the group as a whole, he said, "The best thing you can do to improve is practice. Spend every morning and evening once you wake up and before you go to bed clearing your mind and concentrating on the image you've chosen. Read the books in Rowena and Helga's library, the ones in the school library and the ones I'll lend you. When you think you've got the image firmly in mind and when you start to instinctively drift to it when you're daydreaming, then try and build some barriers. Be inventive, and make sure to mix both magic and physical methods."

Pausing, he grinned. "How about some lunch then? It's about time. And Hermione, did you want to try again at transferring thoughts?"

She looked contemplative. "Maybe after we've eaten. I'm feeling pretty exhausted by it all at the moment," she admitted.

After summoning Dobby up for some food, Harry tucked in with relish. He hadn't realised quite how hungry he was until the scent of it had caught his nose. He was halfway through his meal when he caught Ron's odd look.

"Harry, mate…why are you suddenly eating all properly?" he asked with confusion.

"Er," he began, noticing that he was now the centre of attention again, and feeling a little self-conscious. "My mentor didn't really approve of my eating habits. Something about being screwed if I was ever invited to a formal dinner."

He chuckled inwardly as he imagined Salazar's snappish response to that. He could almost hear him in his head: 'Use every talent you have - integrating yourself into wizarding society and making the correct impression goes far to achieving your aims'.

"Well," Ginny pointed out, "you did say you wanted to know about Wizarding society."

"Doesn't mean he has to eat like some poncy pureblood!" Ron exclaimed waving his fork expressively. Hermione and Opa wrinkled their noses in identical expressions of disgust, before catching sight of each other and promptly looking away.

"Ron…you're a pureblood," Neville pointed out. Ron resumed shovelling food into his mouth after rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"You don't look very nice when you eat," Luna said to the redhead.

To his side Opa suppressed a chuckle. "You know, it's better that you know how to eat properly," she said. "It means you'll make the right impression where it counts and not look like some plebeian mudblood without a clue."

As if on cue, everyone around the table stiffened at the mention of 'mudblood', and Hermione's expression transformed into a mixture of hurt and fury.

"Uh, Opa…" Harry began, unsure of how to break the subject. The blonde looked around and her eyes narrowed.

"You do understand," she began calmly, taking another bite of her food and ignoring Ron's burning gaze boring a hole in her head, "that words only have the power you give them. I could call anyone of you some mudblood whore who sells themselves to half-breeds," Harry took a half-amused, half-shocked intake of breath at her audacity, "but it doesn't mean its true or insulting, as long as you don't make it so."

"You bitch!" Ron exploded. "You slimy little snake! How can you even say those things so casually?"

For a moment Harry was sure that Hermione was going to break into tears, and he, Ginny and Neville watched her with wide eyes, but she seemed to pull herself together and interrupted Ron's continued rant.

"No, it's fine," she said quietly, and Opa raised her eyes to regard her. "I understand what you're saying. I suppose I've just been letting it get to me all this time," she continued, looking downcast.

"Sometimes people call me things too," Luna said distantly, taking a chocolate frog out of her pocket and popping it in her mouth.

"The world's full of prejudice," Opa said after swallowing another mouthful of her food. "That's not going to change, so the problem sits with you. It's only as offensive as you make it."

"You're right," Hermione said with a tentative nod, ignoring Ron's reddening and incredulous face.

Opa paused and set her fork delicately down on the edge of her plate. Meeting Hermione's eyes, she shot her a smile. "Bitch. Stupid little mudblood whore, you'll never make it in our world, you're worthless, do you hear me? Absolutely worthless. Even that vaunted intelligence of yours is nothing more than pig swill compared to even a near squib pureblood."

The entire congregation stared at the blonde in shock, although Harry at least had an inkling of what she was getting at. Neville had gone very pale, and Ron had become beet red, looking as if he were about to leap across the table and beat her to a pulp. Luna simply fixed the pair with a distant smile.

And then Hermione started laughing.

It was happy, genuine, free laughter, and she looked at Opa with a broad grin spread across her face. "I guess I should have realised a long time ago," she said, still smiling. Opa mirrored the expression. "All that vaunted intelligence and I can't figure out something as simple as that."

"There you go then," Opa said, daintily picking up her fork and resuming her meal.

The others looked around in varying degrees of confusion, but Ginny and Harry shared a smile before continuing to eat too.

"What was that?" Ron ground out. Hermione reached across to pat him on the arm.

"Ron, do calm down, it's fine," she told him.

"But…" he trailed off, before comprehension overcame his face. "Oh…_oh._" He looked at Opa and grinned apologetically. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"So…uh…Harry," Neville began, still looking a little pale. "When do you think you can come and meet the group?"

Harry looked up, momentarily confused. "What group?"

"The people who support you, stupid," Ginny said jabbing him with her elbow.

"Oh," he said with dawning comprehension. "Right. We should really think of a name for it, you know."

"Oh, we tried," Opa told him.

"We had Ron's 'RATS' or the 'Resistance Against Treacherous Snakes'," Hermione said with a smile. Harry winced.

"And 'Potter's Army', 'PA' for short," Ginny continued, making Harry shudder.

"The 'Enlightened Hippogriffs'," Neville added in.

"And then we thought the 'Resistance' or 'The Lions'," Opa told him, "but naturally they were too obvious."

"We had really horrible things too," Ron said with a shudder, "like the 'Order of the Phoenix Chicks'."

"And 'Banner of the White Dragon'," Luna put in.

"And 'Order of the Green Nymph'," Ginny said.

"Okay, okay, I get-" Harry began.

"And 'The Unicorn Warriors'," Opa said as if he hadn't spoken.

"And 'Secret Assassins'," Neville added, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"And 'The Hydra's Tail'."

"And 'The Manticore's Claws'."

"And 'Voldemort's Enemies'."

"And 'We-Who-Must-Not-Be-Hyphenated'."

"And 'The Dark Lord's Worst Nightmare'."

"And practically every name under the sun," Hermione finished, shooting a sweet smile at Harry's open-mouthed expression. "So we thought we'd let you name it."

"What…I…what?" Harry repeated.

"It's your choice, coz," Ginny told him.

"But…how am I supposed to come up with a good name?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Dunno," Ron said with a shrug, "but it sure as hell has to be better than some of the names we've come up with."

Harry leant back to think, still utterly bewildered. "We could use an anagram," he suggested weakly.

"Of what?" Opa asked.

"Isn't Voldemort's name an anagram?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "I was thinking of that when I suggested it. A mockery of sorts."

Snapping his fingers, he summoned a piece of paper and twisted a thread of his magic into a quill, not noticing the shocked stares of his friends. Biting his lip, he scribbled 'Harry Potter' at the top of the paper. After a moment's deliberation he added 'TRY REAP THOR' below.

"'TRY REAP THOR'?" Ron quoted. "What's that meant to mean?"

"Uh…it's just the first thing I thought of," Harry mumbled. Ginny snatched the paper from him and wrote out 'PRY OR HATTER'. Grinning, she passed it to Opa. By the time it got back to Harry, the people around him were quietly chuckling and it was filled with gibberish.

"Very funny…" he said, reading down the list. "'THREAT OR PRY'? TRY RAPE THOR!" he exclaimed. Throwing it down, he muttered, "This is useless."

"Quite amusing though," Ron said with a grin. "I particularly liked 'THROAT PRYER'."

"Ha, ha," said Harry sarcastically.

"Not to mention 'HARPY ROTTER'," Opa smirked.

"I thought 'OH RAPT TERRY' was quite pretty," Luna hummed.

"Okay, it was an idea," Harry replied with a shake of his head. "You come up with a better one."

"I think ours _were_ better Harry," Neville told him with a slight smile.

"Impossible as it seems," Opa snorted.

"Don't worry Harry," Hermione said in mock-care, patting him on the shoulder, "we'll take it out of your hands."

Harry groaned. "Why am I always the subject of these impromptu teasing sessions?"

"You're Fate's Joke, coz," Ginny told him sincerely, but the effect was ruined by the humour in her eyes.

Harry froze. "That's it! Fate's Joke! It's obscure _and_ it's something only we'll get," he said excitedly. The others looked unconvinced. "Think about it," he continued. "It sounds like a card game for all the attention people are going to pay it."

Ginny snorted. "So we can just say 'Next time we'll play Fate's Joke is Saturday, 8 'o' clock'."

"Exactly," Harry said with a snap of his fingers.

"You know, I think he might just be onto something," Ron said, breaking out into a broad grin.

"The twin's would approve anyway," Ginny observed.

"Right," Hermione said with bemused shake of her head, "Fate's Joke it is."

---

**Notes:** Another chapter, bit fillery, but hey. Well, I think the updates are going to end up slowing down to one or two a week, once every five days or so. Sorry 'bout that, other things have been interfering, and this way I can edit it a bit better (hopefully).


	58. Shadows and Monsters

---

**Shadows and Monsters**

---

A white shape glided over the scenery far below. Houses, forests and lakes passed by. Hedwig's sharp eyes picked out the tiny people moving around in their homes, and the telltale movement and rustle of an animal in the grass. Circling slowly, she glided silently closer before going into a steep dive.

The rodent noticed at the last moment, and darted out of the way, her claws only raking its side. Hedwig landed elegantly on the ground and peered around. An injured rat wouldn't get far. After looking inquisitively under a log, she launched herself back into the air and passed slowly over the area once more. A few minutes later, when the rat still hadn't turned up, she decided that it was time to move on. Some other lucky animal would get that rodent today: she'd have to find different prey.

---

Gasping, Peter Pettigrew leant up against the tree and pressed one trembling, grime-covered hand to his bleeding side. Of all the rats the owl had to pick, it chose him. With a groan, he fumbled for his wand and muttered a spell, feeling a wave of cool spread over him. Gradually the bleeding ceased, and he cast the second part of the spell.

Rasping a lilting chant, he drew his wand over the deep gouges as far as he could reach, feeling the flesh knit together unpleasantly. He knew he'd scar from this – there was no way he couldn't. Still, scars didn't bother him. He'd got a lot of them being a rat, and even more in the Dark Lord's service. He'd also need a healer, but the only skilful ones in the Dark Order were Severus and Narcissa. All the others were merely there to patch up wounds well enough to keep the victim alive for further experiences under the Dark Lord's hospitality.

Peter knew a lot about the Dark Lord's hospitality.

He also knew that neither Narcissa nor Severus would give him the time of day. The Dark Lord would be irritated with him too, to get hurt in such a careless manner and come begging for help.

"_Pitiful Wormtail, you disappoint me._"

Peter twitched, looking wildly to the side, searching for the source of his master's voice. His head felt like it was spinning slower than the rest of him. He must have lost more blood than he'd thought.

"_Mr. Moony suggests that Mr. Wormtail seeks appropriate medical care before he begins to have genuinely harmful delusions."_

With a whimper, Peter sank to the floor, cradling his head.

"_Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony, and tactfully requests that Mr. Wormtail do something about his smell too."_

"No…James," he whined, his eyes beginning to tear.

"_Well, well, Pettigrew, it seems that you've run yourself into dire straits. Of course, you've hung yourself haven't you, little rat?"_

"_Mr. Padfoot would like to remind Mr. Wormtail that hearing the voices is only useful when they're actually there._"

"_We'll take him back to the castle. Then the Dementors can have him._"

"Harry, James…forgive me…" he wept, leaning his head back against the tree. Above him, through the dark shadow of the canopy the stars shone and spun in little concentric circles. One of them grew to the size of the moon and continued growing, and Peter realised with a distant horror that it meant to eat him whole.

Towards the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest, Wormtail fainted.

Hedwig landed on a branch above, looking at the unconscious human with luminous eyes. She recognised him. She'd seen him running as a rat years ago. She'd always wanted to eat the red haired one's pet. Strange, she thought, ruffling her feathers and taking flight once more.

She still had mice to kill, and the grumble of her belly drew her away from the blood-soaked figure slumped in the shade of the trees.

---

Harry's eyes were open, staring at the star strewn sky reflected in the ceiling above him. To his side, he could hear the gentle rise and fall of Ginny's chest, the light breathing making a strange whistling sound with each exhalation.

The covers clung about him unpleasantly, so he shrugged them off, exposing his skin to the cool air. The room itself had darkened, and the fire in the hearth had lowered to a gentle orange glow that threw tall shadows about him. It was strange, he mused, how different everything became at night. What was familiar and recognisable became something else, something mysterious and unknown at night. He wondered absently if it was the same with people, whether they became someone else, someone unknown and exotic when vision was taken away and the thick curtain of night fell over the world.

Perhaps not.

Sighing, he pushed the covers off himself completely, and swung his legs round to perch on the side of the transfigured sofa. He sat for a long time, simply watching his friend sleep, and eyeing the shadows that hung around the room.

She looked so peaceful, darkened hair spilling over her face. Harry found himself envying her in her unconscious state. He could really do with a decent rest. Dreams cut his sleep short, but he'd been so sure that he'd be able to sleep well this night. He had, after all, been awake since the previous evening, and his eyes were practically weighed down with tiredness. He wondered if he had insomnia.

Standing, he looked around the room for something to do. If he was going to lay awake then he may as well use the time effectively. Using a twist of magic, he wound it round his arms so that it gave off a light only he could see. It wasn't as hard as he had imagined really – just the same principles that applied to Selective Silencing Charms.

Padding away from the bed, he moved another thread of magic to silence any noise he emitted, and made his way over to the library. By the soft light thrown from his hands, he scanned the titles. There was still such a wealth of information here that was as yet untapped. He could almost understand Hermione's inhuman compulsion for absorbing information when faced with such an ancient source as this.

He had unloaded several tomes from the shelf on the subject of building homes and protective rituals when the flash of a title caught his eye. Depositing the volumes on the table, he headed over to the shelf where it had come from. He scanned the titles top to bottom, but it didn't appear.

Frowning, he turned away, and caught another flash of it.

_There._

Turning his head back and forth, he reached into a shadowed portion of the bookcase and slowly withdrew a heavy, black leather bound book. Taking a breath of anticipation, Harry brought his fingers to trace the golden lettering that adorned the cover.

"The Shadow Arts," he murmured. He was suddenly and vividly reminded of the Darkshine Cloaks in 'Sprite's Robes'. They too had only shown their true colours when not under direct scrutiny.

Moving to the seat, he promptly forgot about the other books he had been meaning to read, and reverently opened the tome. There was something about the battered volume that inspired such a feeling. It _felt_ as if it contained untold secrets.

Salazar had been unusually cagey about the Shadow Arts when questioned on them. He'd told Harry with a mysterious smile that if he wanted to learn how to perform them then he'd need to look in someone else's rooms because there was nothing on them in his. And just like most things, Harry had come across the book by pure chance. He wondered vaguely how Salazar had managed to get the book onto Rowena's shelves if he didn't know where her rooms were. Or if he even had put it there. Still, Rowena didn't seem like the type to dabble in the Shadow Arts.

Many hours later, when the rosy light of dawn was beginning to creep through the roof above, Harry closed the book with a sigh, head reeling with information. Shadow Magic was by far one of the strangest and exotic magics he had ever encountered.

Turning to the side he prepared to try out some of his new-found knowledge. He changed the tone of the glow that was twining round his hands to that of the negative light, the one he'd seen during his first accident with the Dark Arts. Feeling a little self-conscious, he crooked his fingers and made a beckoning motion to the deep shadow that the bookcase threw.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought that it had shifted slightly. Crooning softly, he made another beckoning motion with his hands, slowly extending a thread of the darkest magic he could summon.

There was no mistake about it now. The shadow slowly lengthened, stretching until it encountered his thread of magic. He instantly felt a tentative tug on it, and then it was being gently leeched away. Wincing slightly at the sensation, he pulled the thread closer to his hands, slowly drawing the shadow towards him. It seemed to become less and less bold in its movements and more and more demanding on his magic the further it drew from the bookcase.

It finally reached the tip of his fingers and flared up suddenly, the darkness spreading like a cobra opening its hood. Harry cursed inwardly and backed away. There was a reason Shadow Magic was considered dangerous, after all. He had a few choices now, according to the book.

Firstly, he could capture it in a net of magic and bottle the thing to sell. The problem was that he would need a specialist bottle and equipment, and besides the fact that he had no intention of selling it, the practice was highly illegal.

Secondly he could back away slowly; edging the magic away and waiting until the thing retreated back to its harmless state. The problem with this was that the magic that the shadow had been feeding on gave it a semi-sentient, animalistic quality. That meant that it would either treat the wizard as nothing important, or as a major threat before the magic wore off. Fight of flight.

Harry decided to settle with the third option.

Stretching his hand forwards, he proffered another thin thread of magic. The shadow gradually inched forwards before latching greedily onto the thread, tugging far more persistently than before, making Harry let out a hoarse gasp. This definitely wouldn't be something he'd be doing on a regular basis.

The shadow grew closer, finally touching his fingertips. It flared out again, but this time it didn't twist away, but grew larger. Harry felt the drew on his magic increase, and the last thing he saw before he was consumed by a cloud of darkness was a looming snake-like coil of shadow that hung above him like smoke.

---

Ginny was roughly awakened from her dreams by a frantic shouting and an insistent shaking of magic that jerked her awake. Peering blearily around, her eyes met a near hysterical Rowena who was pressed up to the edge of her portrait, shouting down at her.

"Wait! Wait! Slow down!" she called out, going almost instantly from drowsiness to wakefulness. "What is it?"

"Harry," Rowena said, face pale. "In the library. Look, you have to be very-"

But Ginny was already tearing out of her bed and running towards the library. When she arrived, she skidded to a halt, eyes wide.

A monstrous cloud of what looked to be black smoke hung around the central clearing by the table, swirling and swelling as if breathing. As she paused, whatever it was appeared to notice her, flaring out menacingly as she came close. Her breath caught in her throat, not because of the danger but because the movement of the black, smoke-like substance had revealed a pale shape sprawled on the floor.

In a reckless move, she started forwards, but encountered an invisible barrier. Growling in frustration she hurled herself forwards again, only to encounter the same phenomenon.

"Don't you dare!" snapped a voice from her left. "I'll not have two of my charges consumed by the shadow."

The words barely registered, but Ginny caught 'consumed' with growing panic, and with a keening sound she threw herself against the invisible barrier.

"Harry!" she yelled, voice catching.

"Quiet!" Rowena hissed at her. "Do you want to save him or not?"

"Yes, yes," Ginny sobbed, not tearing her eyes away from the shifting image form her friend.

"Then don't do anything rash," Rowena said sharply, apparently overcoming her earlier hysterics. "Conjure a light, the purest, lightest glow you can imagine."

Ginny nodded tearfully, fumbling for her wand. When she realised that she had left it back by her bed, she left out a noise somewhere between a wail and a groan. Dashing back to collect it seemed to take far too long, the covers of the bed catching and tangling her shaking hands as she tried to pick it up.

When she arrived back at the scene, she heard a piercing howl emerge from the cloud, and instinctively darted forwards again, only to be brought up short by the barrier.

"Concentrate!" Rowena chastised her. Ginny nodded, blinking to clear her tears.

"Lumos," she stuttered, and a guttering light emerged from the tip of her wand. The creature didn't even appear to notice."

"Again!" the Founder commanded, her face contorting in what appeared to be pain.

"Lumos!" Ginny shouted, whimpering when it failed. "Lumos! Lumos! Lumos!" she cried, flicking her wand hysterically. "Harry!"

To her side, Rowena collapsed in the portrait and another figure dashed to the forefront.

"What's wrong with you, you damnable witch?!" shouted a male voice, and Ginny looked up to see a furious looking Salazar Slytherin bat the other Founder out of the way. When he looked out, his face drained completely of colour, leaving the deep blue of his eyes like holes in his countenance.

"Where is it?" he said emotionlessly, turning to Rowena. "Where are your rooms?"

"I can't…not for you Salazar…" the dark-haired woman said, appearing to wither under his gaze.

Slytherin appeared as if he were about to tear into the woman physically, but instead drew a breath and turned to Ginny. She met his eyes tearfully.

"Where are the rooms?"

"Dungeons, beyond the painting of the woman in the g-green dress and the s-snake. In the shadows," Ginny whispered, still pathetically flicking her wand. Light guttered and died again, and she could feel her panic like a physical barrier blocking it.

Salazar nodded and continued to watch the shadows swell and fall with an expressionless face. Ginny was reminded of pictures she had seen where predators crouched low and protectively over their prey whilst they ate. Occasionally the shadow would flare towards them, and Ginny would flinch back. The whole mass of it seemed to be growing, gradually moving outwards to fill the entire circular confines of the studying area.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" she croaked out, looking up at Slytherin in despair. "Why!? Why are you just leaving him there?"

Salazar met her eyes with disdainful blue ones of his own. "I am, which is far more than I can say for you, little girl."

Ginny seemed to crumple at the words, dropping bonelessly to the floor. Her wand fell from her fingers and rolled to the side. The shadow had grown so much that it enveloped and smothered even the brief glimpses she had got of Harry's prone form.

In what seemed like an eternity of time, there came a soft silver glow from behind her, and she turned her head to see an expression of utter loathing ingrained into the features of a very real, very spectral Salazar Slytherin. A soft gasp of shock escaped her lips as she met his gaze, and then he had passed through her, moving sinuously before the shadow as it seemed to quail and shrink back from the ghostly light he threw.

---

He was in a dark place. He felt instinctively that he'd been here before. Perhaps it was the intangible ether from where people were born, and where they went where they died, but that didn't feel right.

There was a pressing blackness all around clutching at him with tendrils of darkness. Everywhere he looked was black. He had no hands to feel forwards with, no eyes to see. No way to verify his existence except for the fact that he thought. As long as he continued to think, he would exist.

He tried moving, but because he had no body to move with, and there was impenetrable blackness in every direction, he couldn't tell if he had. He continued to try despite that. Trying was better than stillness. Trying was better than forgetting he existed.

It felt unaccountably odd to have only darkness where his body had been, but he couldn't remember why. This void of matter…this void…

There. He had a name for the place. He knew where he was now. He was in the Void. He knew that there should be something in the Void, possibly many somethings. Spaces like little islands mired in the darkness. There were stray thoughts in here too, because he encountered them occasionally. They gave him time, and a purpose, but they weren't _his_ time. They weren't _his_ purpose.

Upwards. Perhaps he'd try upwards. He knew that upwards meant goodness – it was just one of those things he'd glimpsed and understood. He wondered whether he was already floating upwards, but didn't know it yet. He wondered whether he had been falling before.

There.

In the sky, a brilliant, flickering point of light. He wanted to go _there._ He could tell he was moving now, because he had a reference against the darkness. The point of light was growing and growing. He came closer, and saw a small house, but it wasn't his home. He entered, but the things he found weren't his. There was a person in it, but it wasn't him.

He left, and began walking again. He thought he might have been walking for eternity. He came across a pair of lights, joined together in two identical tombs of ice. Sea lapped his ankles as he sat on the edge of the shore. The water was cold, and he didn't belong here. The people encased in the icebergs were the same person in separate bodies. It made him feel strange. He left again.

There were many more places his visited, but he didn't recognise any of them. Some of them had memories he recognised, and he caught bits and pieces falling from them or circling them in orbit. He saw places in these memories – a castle, people with red hair, an old man, a crest with a roaring lion and another with a curling snake.

As he became used to the place, he found he could see further into the Void. There were lights like stars, all different colours. There were clusters, nebulas and belts of them. He wondered if he was in space, but discounted it. This wasn't space.

After a long time, he found a green star. It called to him like none of the other lights had. Perhaps it had been calling him all along and he hadn't noticed it? Perhaps.

He came closer, until his feet dipped down to touch the stone of a familiar tunnel. Yes, this felt like home. There was something different about it, but he recognised bits. Perhaps it had changed in his absence.

He walked forwards, slipping easily past the defences and traps. They didn't even notice him. The tunnel was bigger than he remembered it, and the memories were like clouds of mist that clung to him.

Blood. He could smell blood filling his nostrils.

He moved on, forwards, always forwards.

Cries, panicked cries filling his ears. Then a distant tune, like choir music he'd heard in churches a long time ago.

Shrugging, he passed the mist by. There was a door, all covered in metal snakes, but he stepped through it as if it wasn't there. He was in a large cavern, filled with drips and echoes, and the scent of water. Columns rose up, and his eyes became caught on an immense statue that rose far into the ceiling, great stone beard falling in a tumbling wave to the man's shoes.

"Potter." A soft hiss from behind him.

_Is that my name?_

"Oh, how precious. What have we here, little mouse?"

He could see a tall, pale man circle him. He had slender hands whose fingers splayed out like spider's legs, skeletal. He had dull, red eyes like the colour of dried blood. He saw that his hair had grown back, and now hung in an iron grey mass down to the tops of his ears, and wondered how he'd known that the man had once had no hair.

Little mouse…

"Tell me Harry, how did you find me?"

_I travelled across the black place, across the Void. You're a green light. I visited other places too._

"Lost in the Void," the man said, the words rolling off his tongue as if he were tasting them. "What _have_ you been doing Harry?"

There was laughter in his voice, and he found he liked the sound. It reminded him of something.

_I can't remember. Who are you?_

The man really laughed this time. It was high, and dark. It made him shiver. The man smiled, and the tips of vicious, white teeth emerged from the blackness of his mouth. He raised his hand and used one long finger to sketch the words 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' in the air.

He frowned, and then murmured, "I am Lord Voldemort."

"Very good Harry."

"But that is not who you are. That's a name," he whispered. His voice sounded strange to his ears, as if he hadn't ever used it before. "Harry is just a name. Who am I?"

Voldemort laughed again. His own lips curled up in a faint imitation as he struggled to remember what it meant to smile.

"We're very alike, you and I," Voldemort said softly, moving towards him. Reaching out a hand, he closed cold fingers over his jaw and turned his face gently this way and that. "Were you struggling simply to exist, in the Void?"

"Yes," he murmured. "Thinking lets me exist."

"Oh yes, very good indeed. I remember," the man said, inhaling sharply through slitted nostrils and closing his eyes. Harry watched in fascination as those red eyes were covered by pale, almost translucent lids. "I remember. Each agonising moment is a struggle to exist. Thinking is the only assurance that you are, indeed surviving in that endless blackness. It takes a long time, almost eternity, before you find the first light doesn't it?"

Harry nodded, then with a slide of skin the fingers clasping his jaw fell away, and he found himself transfixed by those red eyes once more.

"And then…then you realise, slowly, that the place you are is not the place you should be. The memories are similar, but not yours, are they?" he asked softly. "No. It takes a long time…a millennia…an eternity of movement to find your way home like a sheep that has strayed from the flock so far as to be irretrievable."

"Pain beyond pain Harry, I've told you once before. To return to a mind forsaken by a body, to pick up the fragments, all the while struggling to exist and survive," Voldemort whispered, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on him. "You did that to me Harry, you tore me from my world. But you also helped, unwillingly, to return me to my body. It seems only fitting that I should be the one to find you now."

His eyes slid from him and he turned to regard the high chamber around him. "You see Harry, I am of half a mind to keep you here."

Harry thought about that, looking at the tall, pale man before him. "I don't think I'd mind," he said slowly. "It feels like home."

Voldemort laughed again and turned back to him. "Oh, I imagine that I could become used to having you here. But…" he trailed off suggestively. "You see Harry, I do so enjoy the challenge you present. That night in the graveyard…ah, what frustration to have you escape like sand from my grasp, but perhaps I grew careless…perhaps I became overconfident in my conviction that I could engineer your death. You survived, you see…and I realised that there was time still. You seem to be Fated Harry, Fated to survive until you can face me as my equal."

Voldemort chuckled darkly, and he shivered in response. It was pleasant to be able to feel something instead of the endless blankness he'd experienced before, even if it was apprehension.

"There is time Harry, all the time in the world for us to meet, for you to grow ready. I am eternal, and as long as I am, I know you to be too…as I said, we are so very alike. Fate would not allow her favourite pawn to die by anything but my hand, I am sure of it."

"Will I go back then?" he murmured. Voldemort smiled venomously.

"Eventually. But it is _so_ tempting to toy with you whilst you're here. I have to wonder what the old man will say were he to know that you're held in my mind, away from your body."

"It doesn't matter, does it?" he asked. "You said it is only me and you. Fated, wasn't that it?"

"You make us sound like star-crossed lovers Harry," Voldemort said, smile broadening, small sharp teeth revealed.

He shrugged. "There isn't much of a difference, is there?"

The man laughed. "How very profound you've become without your memories. Indeed, in a way we are more intimate than any lovers could be. Not many could say they share their minds as we do."

"Am I to stay then?" he asked.

Voldemort shook his head and gestured languorously around the cavern. "Look around you Harry. To keep you here would only prove to be a danger, don't you see? You'd fatten your mind on my memories, you'd learn my secrets, and when you did indeed return you would know far more than I care you to," he said. "So you see Harry, there is little I can do but send you back. I doubt destroying you here would be so easy."

"What would I learn?" he asked. "Are the memories here not mine?"

Voldemort laughed again, the noise echoing round the chamber. "Harry, Harry, you are far too curious. I suspect you have heard the saying 'curiosity killed the cat'? Well for you, little mouse, death would be a mercy."

He stared at him, eyes still caught by the blood red pair before him. "Am I not dead?"

"Not yet Harry, not yet. You are not ready for death," Voldemort replied, walking forwards. He wrapped a cold arm around his shoulder and guided him towards one of the tunnels that stretched into the labyrinth. It was a strange sensation, he mused, to have a weight around his insubstantial shoulders, and those cruel fingertips biting into his flesh. He realised with muted surprise that he had a body now.

"I exist," he murmured.

"Indeed you do," Voldemort replied.

They stopped at an unforgiving stone arch where a lurid green thread had latched itself to the floor, stretching off into the Void.

"There is your road," said Voldemort, turning to regard him thoughtfully. "No life is without a price Harry, and when it comes the time that you must repay your debts, you shall come to me."

He nodded slowly, before tearing his eyes away and regarding the green thread. It was time to go home.

---

Not so far away from the still smirking Dark Lord, Harry Potter's eyes snapped open and he took a gulping breath of air.

---

**Notes:** Took awhile. I'm coming to the end of my exams now, which is good. Hit the 1000 review mark in the mean time – I keep sort of staring back at it and feeling incredulous. Thanks for all the kind words, and I hope you all keep enjoying the fic.


	59. Godric Gryffindor

---

**Godric Gryffindor**

---

It took him a long time to place the voice. It looked like it was coming from far away, the sound drifting over him in colours and sensations. He inhaled, and it felt like the first time he'd drawn a breath. Sweet, cool air flooded his lungs, and made his body sing. His heart beat.

He was alive.

There was that sound again, and he smiled and turned his head. A girl swam into view, with hair like fire that spilled down her shoulders and licked her skin. He could see her eyes and all the intricacies of her irises, the tiny pores on her skin and the weave of the fibres that made up the cloth under her hand.

It was all so real, so vibrant, so colourful. Life was filled with a flavour that could only be mimicked by the Void.

_Little one._

Ah, there was another voice. A thought travelling down a connection to himself. He knew it as well as he knew himself. Harry reflected that that could mean very much or very little.

_I'm alive._

'_I'm alive._'

"I'm alive," he rasped.

As soon as the words left his mouth, reality came crashing back in. Everything he'd ever known, everything he'd ever experienced ran back through him, crushing him, grinding him to dust before reassembling him.

"You're alive," she whispered. There were tear tracks down her face.

"Ginny?" he croaked. She fell into his arms, wrapping herself around him and sobbing.

"I'm sorry…I couldn't…you were gone…" Harry only caught brief snatches of words through the weeping, so he settled with simply holding her and stroking her hair until she calmed enough to speak properly.

As it turned out, she simply dropped off to sleep instead. Harry continued to stroke her hair, enjoying the feeling of it under his fingertips. Everything was so new and unreal still, but he had never felt better in his life. Even with the knowledge that he had met Voldemort in that strange half-place of his mind. Even with the knowledge that he now owed the man a Life Debt.

Voldemort had given him time, he remembered. There was no rush, because he had all eternity to let it play out. He would learn, love and enjoy life. He could live.

_It's as if a weight has been lifted,_ he murmured.

_You make your freedom in the strangest places little one,_ Salazar replied, drifting into sight. Harry gave him a crooked smile.

_I suppose I do,_ he replied light-heartedly. _I owe Voldemort a life debt, but that really only made it official. I have time to live, and I didn't even realise it before._

_Indeed you do, little one, indeed you do,_ the Founder agreed, his smooth tones disguising something dangerous in his voice. _Tell me, what were you thinking when you were dabbling in the Shadow Arts?_

Harry chuckled hoarsely. It seemed like so long ago now. _I wanted to tame one of them. Besides, that's Gryffindor recklessness for you isn't it?_

Salazar sent a chilly laugh back to resound around his mind, humour breaking up the murky anger. _Tame one? That is more than recklessness._

_What happened to it?_ Harry asked.

Salazar's smile broadened, expression taking on the familiar tint that said he knew something that Harry didn't. Not just that, but he was pleased about it. _I believe that it had absorbed too much of your magic to break free from you when I arrived, and prevented it from sucking you dry. It has been…appropriated by your magic._

_So I own a monster now?_ Harry laughed, surprised. _How charming._

_Do you know, little one, that I originally contrived to place the book on her shelf in order to kill my dear Rowena?_ Salazar asked nostalgically.

_Romantic,_ Harry observed with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

_Quite. But we were in the habit of playing such games with each other,_ Slytherin said.

_How did you get it on the shelf?_ Harry asked.

Salazar smiled darkly. _Rowena leaves her mind relatively unprotected. It was a simple matter of placing a few subversive commands within and leaving her to doom herself._

_But I got to it first,_ Harry said.

_So you did,_ Salazar agreed.

---

The lake glistened under the soft morning light, a lone figure seated by the shore. Harry stared out across the stretch of water, safely hidden under his Chameleon Skin. He'd discovered that his strange trip into the Void had not lasted the eternity he had imagined. Instead, he'd been unconscious for a grand total of seven hours. Barely enough time for a good night's rest, let alone a mind broadening experience.

The joy of life had worn off slightly as his thoughts and memories reintegrated. He got used to his body again. He realised all of the responsibilities he had. The weight returned, but not as heavily as he had felt it before.

The experience had made him realise things. Saving the world wasn't his responsibility. Shouldn't be. All that he was responsible for was Voldemort's death, nothing more and nothing less. Others could stop the monster or bargain with him, saving the world in the process. It wasn't black and white. Voldemort didn't have to be dead for people to live in peace and happiness. In fact, killing Voldemort wouldn't necessarily grant them anymore peace and happiness than they already had. Harry wondered why he'd thought that his death would somehow reverse all the damage and corruption and leave everything peachy clean and pure in the first place.

Of course, he would do what he could. People shouldn't have to die like they did. But his perception of happenings had changed. Death was the end of their life, the end of suffering, joy and emotion. An end, nothing more and nothing less. The people that were left behind would mourn, but they would be the ones experiencing the grief and the guilt, not the person who'd died.

Harry wasn't sure whether the dead were really watching over the land of the living. It would be rather dull in the long run, after all. If souls escaped, then they would go somewhere different. Something else would happen. He couldn't explain his parents appearance during Priori Incantatem, but he knew that he wouldn't be seeing them again whilst he was alive. He was sure of that. For the first time in his life, he accepted that they were dead, truly and surely. For some reason, the thought didn't bother him as much as it used to. There was no reason to cling on to people who would never be coming back, and he was finally able to realise that.

Things were becoming clear to him, as they never had before. His purpose was to kill Voldemort, but that would mean the end of his life too. The choice was entirely up to him, as Voldemort had pointed out. What the man didn't know, was that his death and Harry's death was the same thing. That effectively meant that Fate had handed them both immortality on a platter, if they could contrive to not kill each other for long enough. Again, it was his choice. It was obvious that Voldemort wanted immortality, but did Harry want to be a tool for that?

So what did he do in the mean time? He had plans to work with, and he wasn't about to throw them away. They were solid and workable. They would provide a basis to start from. His three sites for the different sub-bases were nicely spread out across the country. He would need to purchase a house in London too, and preferably several others in major cities to act as safe-houses.

Harry had yet to decide where to construct the island. He would need to discover the heights of certain areas around the coast, and just how far out he would need to be to avoid the restrictions on construction, not to mention how to cast the Fidelius over water. Or the Fidelius at all for that matter. Then, in between all this construction work he was going to be meeting Snape to be taught, and Fate's Joke to teach. It had gone unsaid between Ginny and himself that what he was really doing was slowly nurturing a band of loyal supporters who would help him fight. Harry suspected that they all knew what they were doing when they agreed, and if not, they'd find out soon enough. Now was the time for alliances to be made.

Then, he would need to find Godric's rooms and secure the control and protection of the castle. With all four Founders in place, Albus Dumbledore would no longer hold the same sway he did, and the hidden defences could be raised if a threat was posed. Harry no longer doubted Salazar as he had done in the beginning – the man was not the type to forsake his creation for trivial whims.

Beyond that, there were many smaller tasks that he had to achieve. He'd felt the pull of the Chill as it had passed over him in his mind, but hadn't responded this time. The wards were still being drained, and despite the power that had been laid into them via Dumbledore Harry could feel that they were close to falling. Very close. It was imperative that he find the portrait. He also had to descend once more into the Chamber of Secrets and dissect a Basilisk corpse, a task that he was not looking forwards to.

Then, to cap it all off, he had an empowered shadow lurking in the darkest depths of his magic. Harry sighed and stood, beginning to walk at a leisurely pace. It had seemed like such a reasonable idea at the time. Still, he couldn't say that he hadn't gained anything from it - all he needed to do now was figure out just how to use what he'd gained effectively. One bad experience wasn't going to make him abandon his foray into the Shadow Arts.

Reaching out with a small thread of magic, he summoned one of the school brooms from where it stood next to the broom shed. It wouldn't do to use his Firebolt. Obviously some lazy Quidditch player had left this broom out.

Harry had had a wonderful time stretching his magical senses to see just how far they'd go. Currently he found that he could encompass about half the school, and even more land, without having a sensory overload and fainting. From here he could feel the broom's irritable magical thrum. Its owner didn't really care for it, it seemed, and it was not pleased at being left out in the rain. The magic had been working overtime to keep the wood from rotting, and the reserves were growing low. He wrapped another thread around it to shield it from sight as it skimmed across the lake towards him.

Capturing it in his hand, he gave a boost to the magical reserves before shooting into the sky. He did a few ecstatic flips and turns, revelling in the feeling of being in the air again. He may not have been born on a broom, but boy had be missed it.

Going into a steep dive, he tested the broom's capabilities as his toes brushed the water. Then, mindful of the various creatures that living in the lake, he drifted higher. He was searching for something particular as he flew over the expanse of water. Some hint to his magical senses of concealment or the familiar taste of Dumbledore's magic.

Several hours of scouring later, Harry came to pause over a section of craggy, overhanging rock. His search had been unrevealing, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion. The entirety of the Hogwarts grounds were saturated with centuries of dormant magic that had seeped into the very soil. The area below him, however, was a null on his senses, a small area devoid of any magic at all.

Grumbling, Harry landed. "Of all the times he had to use a magical suppression spell…"

Looking around, he honed his magical senses towards the ground around him. The grass below his feet had traces of magic in it, he could tell. And the soil below that, and the rock below that.

Hopping back on his broom, he did a barrel roll and ducked under the rocky overhang of stone. Below him, the lake fell away in a stomach turning drop into blackness. He may have summoned the bravery to dive deep into the lake before, but it didn't mean that he ever wanted to do it again.

Sighing, he spread his senses downwards and around his back just in case. He really didn't want to find out what lived in the lake by getting snatched out of the air and eaten because he wasn't being careful enough. Thankfully, all he sensed were a school of fish that darted deeper beneath the water as his shadow fell over them.

That done, he began to analyse the rock face in greater detail. The black stone was rough and jagged, the magical null area directly in the centre, around a twenty-foot distance between the water and the top of the rock face. Harry guessed that the castle had been unable to direct the headmaster and prevent as many spells being cast as inside the building itself. To him, it felt as if the portrait had been buried deep within the rock itself.

With a sigh, he reached out with his magic to feel for the enchantment. His senses encountered an unpleasant sizzling sensation when they connected with the magical null, and Harry tried to stop himself from gaping. If Dumbledore had prevented all magic around the area, he could very well have already destroyed a portrait with Godric Gryffindor's soul in it. Merlin…he couldn't imagine being desperate enough to take the chance of sacrificing a priceless piece of history in such a way.

A little more delicately this time, Harry inched his magic out to brush against the rock, searching for the source of the null spell. To create an area void of magic the spell relied on several runes. The non-magical areas generally weren't that effective because they could be overloaded and the runes would simply be fried. However, anything magical found themselves feeling profoundly uncomfortable in the area of such a prevention, which would have nicely warned away any students who wanted to linger by this section of the lake.

The negative sensation rose, until Harry was sure that he'd pinpointed one of the runes. Concentrating, he crafted a drill-shaped burst of magical energy to collide with the rune. To his satisfaction, there was a loud crack and a chunk of rock fell from the rock face and tumbled into the water.

When he brushed along the null area once more, he felt the weakening in the structure. He guessed that there were three runes in total, balancing out the effect equally. Edging along the stone, he encountered another area of magical void. Pinpointing it, he repeated the process, and another chunk of rock fell into the depths of the lake.

The final rune was significantly weakened by the loss of the other two, and after extending a few threads of power to support the rock face as a precaution, Harry overloaded the last rune.

There was a rumbling sound, and the rock around the area appeared to ripple as the magic that had built up in the surrounding soil flooded into it. Curious, Harry extended his senses and encountered an overwhelming presence encased in the rock. All the magic that was flowing in seemed to be sucked into one particular area.

Smirking, Harry waited until the influx of energy seemed to slow and then reached out to the stone with a request. Although it hadn't been drenched in magic as the rest of school grounds had been, the stone reacted to his commands easily enough, parting slowly to reveal a small square of plain wooden frame, barely bigger than Harry's palm.

Grinning, Harry flew into the narrow tunnel that had been created, and plucked the portrait up from its resting-place. Darting out into the air once more, Harry let his magic go and the stone closed back up as smoothly as the water below. Drifting easily over the lake, Harry turned the portrait to face him.

That heavy lidded leonine face that he so clearly remembered from Salazar's sketches stared back at him. Gryffindor had a shoulder-length mane of golden hair, and deep amber eyes that were now filled with a spark of lazy delight. A slight smile curled his lips as he looked up at Harry.

"Ah, my daring rescuer," he said with a chuckle. "I haven't seen the light of day in a long time."

"Hello Godric," Harry greeted him. "The others are already out. You're the last."

Godric looked at him with a raised brow. "Best for last, hmm? Well, take me back to my rooms and we can talk. I assume since you have returned the others to their places that you know about the Founders' rooms?"

Harry nodded. "Where are they?"

Godric shot him a wolfish grin and simply gestured straight downwards. Harry swallowed nervously.

"Under the water?" he asked, biting his lip.

"They are," the Founder replied.

"Any directions, or am I to dive blindly into the lake?" Harry asked with a raised brow. "I'm on a broom you know. I'm not sure how they handle water."

"Below where I was imprisoned, is a tunnel. The tunnel eventually curves upwards and into open air," the Founder told him.

Harry scowled. "I thought cats didn't like water," he muttered. Godric's lazy smile merely broadened.

"You sound like Salazar, you know," he observed. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I've spent enough time with him for that to be the case," he replied, eyeing the water with trepidation. "What exactly lives in the lake?"

"Aside from the merpeople and my Squid, you know as well as I," Godric said.

"Your squid?" Harry asked. "You mean _you_ brought the Giant Squid to the castle?"

Godric gave him a crooked smile. "It was a…pet, of sorts."

"Right," Harry replied shortly. "Well, here goes. If I die, try and get the merpeople to explain to Dumbledore exactly why."

Godric's chuckle was muffled as he was tucked under Harry's arm and they went into a steep dive towards the water. Harry used his magic to wrap the air around them in a spiralling cocoon seconds before he burst through the surface of the lake.

It was a strange parody to the previous year, being under water. This time however, the air he had gathered still surrounded them in an odd bubble that distorted the surroundings. Apparently, as long as brooms didn't get completely soaked, they were fine to continue flying. Harry's broom carried as if they had never collided with the water in the first place, which, given its state of neglect, wasn't very fast.

Peering curiously through the bubble, Harry continued to fly downwards until he spotted a dark tunnel. Biting back his trepidation, he began to inch down, spreading his magical senses as far out as they could go, so as to pick up anything ahead or behind.

Towards the end of the tunnel his expanded senses encountered a small nest of Grindylows, but a quick burst of magic made short work of them, and he sent their stunned bodies spinning back into the lake, whilst quietly frying their eggs. He really didn't need them to start breeding in the entrance to Godric's rooms.

Just when he was beginning to worry about the dwindling amount of oxygen he'd managed to grasp and carry with him, the tunnel began to broaden and arch upwards. Several minutes later, the broom burst out of the water, and Harry took deep breaths of the air despite himself. Far from being stale for being trapped under the earth for so many centuries, it was as fresh as if it had travelled in from the outside.

"You've got fresh air coming in?" he asked the portrait. Godric raised a brow at him.

"What is magic for, if not fresh air?"

Harry blinked sent him a lopsided smile. "Point taken."

Looking around him, Harry noted that he was in a relatively small underground chamber. Spotting the metal spike on the wall, Harry moved across the dusty floor to hang the portrait up.

He wasn't at all prepared for what happened.

A ripple, much like a shock wave, burst from the connection sending Harry flat out onto the ground. Beneath him, the rock shook and moved, and the water was jarred and slapped his sides, soaking through his clothes.

That wasn't what unnerved him though. To his magical senses, it was as if there had been a sudden explosion of power. It echoed all through the grounds and concentrated itself in the castle, deep beneath the earth. For a moment, Harry hung in a timeless age of pure power, knowledgeable of everything and nothing that went on – from the students spells and thoughts, through the rocks of the castle and straight down to the colony of ants nesting on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, one of whose workers had become unhinged, and was being torn apart by a pair of warriors.

A second later, Harry Potter blacked out.

---

Ginny let out a startled cry as her potion was upset and overturned. A thrum of magic set the room to rattling, resounding through her bones and filling her with an inexplicable force. On the other side of the lake, she could feel the familiar presence of Harry fade into unconsciousness before she succumbed herself.

---

In his office, Albus Dumbledore's magical instruments collapsed from the inside out as they rocketed off the scale. Standing in alarm, he found himself overcome with dizziness, feeling the stirrings of the power he knew he should have. Swaying, he fell back into his chair, placing a hand to his head in shock.

---

Chester tumbled from his perch in the tree in surprise. He landed on all fours like a cat, watching the grass between his fingers grow at a terrifying rate. Above him, the tree ran through several seasons before bursting into violent purple bloom.

---

In his classroom, Severus Snape watched in horror as an entire batch of calming draughts simultaneously exploded. He caught only a glimpse of the students' screams of pain and worry before he was overcome by a powerful wave of blackness.

---

Fawkes circled the castle, positively crowing in delight. His plumes had never burnt so bright, and he could be seen as a fiery beacon over the building, glowing with a light as strong as the sun.

---

In her favourite seat in the library, Opa disappeared. Her friends would have been worried, but they found themselves overcome by a sudden daze that swept them away from reality. In her seat opposite, Luna merely smiled. There were some things that surprised even the best of wizards.

---

Deep in the bowels of the castle, in catacombs left undisturbed by time, a monster stirred, shivering in pleasure as the wave of power washed over it. Slipping from the smooth rock it had lain on previously, it pierced the surface of the underground pool and dropped to the bottom with a sinuous grace, basking in the flood of magic.

---

**Notes:** Been awhile – I've been away for five days, and I'll be off in ten days for a festival. Not much to say, except that yes! - We finally have all four founders out. Took enough time didn't it? Next chapter should be up Thursday or Friday.


	60. Exotic

---

**Exotic**

---

Blinking the darkness from his eyes, Harry groaned and turned on his side. His entire body felt as if it had pins and needles, and his skin turned numb as his hands touched the stone floor. The entire spirit of the rock seemed to be thrumming with an indescribable power, and when he turned to the side he saw that the water had taken on an unnatural, luminescent glow.

"You've woken up I see," said a voice from behind him. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he twisted round to see the small portrait of Gryffindor staring down at him.

"How…what…" Harry trailed off. "Oh Merlin, you'd better have a good explanation for why I feel like I've been run through a lawnmower."

Godric gave him a strange look of incomprehension, but seemed to catch the gist of his statement nonetheless. "All in good time. I suggest that you enter and sit down for awhile first. You seem a little…pale."

He gestured to the handle that slowly resolved itself out of the rock. Sighing, Harry tugged it and the stone door slowly swung to the side.

The room before him was very small and bare, carved out of the rock with a set of simple steps cut into the wall that descended from the opposite side of the room to another level below.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this. With a backward glance at the door, he crossed the room and slowly travelled down the stone steps.

The room he emerged in wasn't directly in line with the room above, but appeared to be set back below the cave he'd emerged in. It was larger than the one above, but nowhere near as spacious as the rooms of the other Founders. There was, however, a substantial difference. It appeared that instead of the customary spelled ceiling that Salazar and Rowena had opted for, the wall opposite him showed the underwater tunnel that he had just traversed.

The room was done in light tones, but overall it was rather plain and unassuming. Not at all how he'd imagined the place to be. A cheerful fireplace flared into life as he entered, before which was spread a variety of comfortable looking cushions. Harry picked out a few that had an Eastern design, and remembered Salazar's mention that Godric had done much travelling when he had been younger.

Aside from the fireplace and cushions, there was very little in the room. He was pleased to note that there was another portrait above the fireplace, but it remained empty.

A little bemused, he continued to his right, heading towards an open doorway. Stepping down the few steps beyond, Harry entered a narrow but reasonably well-lit corridor that twined round in a peculiar fashion, all sharp corners and edges.

At one point, it turned sharply to his left and ahead of him lay a doorway. Bypassing the turning in preference to entering the next room, he pushed open the stone door and entered.

This room was barely larger than the last, and was done in similarly pale colours. Another fireplace crackled into life as he passed the threshold, and Harry entered the roughly 'L'-shaped space. The floor had a large, intricately designed carpet laid across the stone floor that shifted softly beneath his feet. To his right ran a long, pale wood desk from one wall to the other, above which hung several shelves. The desk, like the other rooms of the Founders appeared to have been left in a hurry at some point. A quill and several stacks of decaying parchment lay on the surface, the remnants of what might have been ink splattered on them. Besides that, the room was impeccably neat.

Rather confused at the sparse quality of the place, Harry stepped up to examine the titles on the shelf. It soon became apparent that Godric, like Salazar, had done much study in his life, and the majority, if not all, of the books upon the shelves were written by him. Harry did pick out a few titles by the other Founders, and a couple of names that he didn't recognise. The tomes were in varying degrees of decay. Many had obviously been meticulously preserved, but others appeared not to have been spelled at all, and had turned to dust as much as the parchment still on the desk had.

With a slight shrug, Harry turned away. On the left side of the room was another doorway. Harry had to catch his surprise at his discovery of what lay beyond.

A small circular room surrounded on all sides by bookcases met his eyes. The room was barely two metres in diameter, but it stretched almost as high as the ceiling of the Great Hall. If Harry had thought that Godric had a peculiar sense of design before, he had no doubt about it now. He was beginning to get an inkling of where all the secret passages and strangely shaped rooms in the castle had come from.

As tempting as it was to stay and explore the titles, Harry returned to the corridor and continued down it. Before long, he emerged in another room, similar to the first of the rooms he had entered. The colours were simple, and the wall opposite him had been spelled to show the expanse of the lake stretching away underwater. Harry watched in fascination as a school of fish darted past.

There was, however, one fundamental difference between this room and the others. While the previous ones had been sparse and bare, this room was filled to the brim with all manner of strange and exotic items, so that there was barely space to move. His eyes caught a large number of carpets stacked up in a corner, several vases, something that looked suspiciously like a sarcophagus, stone tablets, multicoloured trinkets and glittering mobiles hanging from the ceiling. Thick swathes of fabric were draped from the walls and roof and hung in gentle arcs downwards. A gilt cage held a motionless, brightly coloured parakeet. Painted carvings of birds, adorned with real feathers were hung from a string that spanned from one side of the room to the other. Multitudes of little glowing bulbs swung in mid air.

Harry simply gaped.

"This room always was my favourite," said a voice from somewhere behind the piles of treasures.

After stepping gingerly over a beaten metal teapot, skirting around a jumble of fabrics and strange, glinting plates stacked haphazardly on an ornately carved wooden cupboard, Harry emerged in a relatively clear area that overlooked the lake. There was another large pile of cushions, indented slightly from what appeared to be regular use, looking for all the world as if the occupant had left only days ago.

Godric's portrait was substantially larger here, being about the size of two dinner plates. It was leaning against the watery wall, and Harry noticed with some trepidation as a fish swept close that the wall appeared to ripple. He was no longer sure if it was in fact a spelled wall, or if the room in fact simply faced the lake with only ancient magic preventing the water from spilling into the chambers.

"Why…what…" Harry tore his gaze away from the lake with a wry grin. "You know, these are probably the strangest rooms I've ever been in."

Godric chuckled, a warm sound that made Harry smile. He had a feeling he was going to get along quite well with this man. "My dear friends never did understand my habit of hoarding things. I dread Ravenclaw's reaction to the state of my rooms."

"But the others are so…" Harry paused, searching for a word. "Sparse, I suppose. It's like you've taken everything that was in the other rooms and put it in here."

Seeing Gryffindor's raised brow and smile, Harry shook his head. "I like it. It's…different."

Godric inclined his head with a smile. Harry got a strong sense of patience in the man. He seemed to simply be waiting for him to ask the questions he expected.

"Well," Harry began, seating himself on the pile of cushions. "I suppose obvious things first. What happened when you connected to the castle?"

"Beneath the dungeons, at the centre of the building, it a crystal of great structural importance," Godric told him. He had a slow rumbling voice, and once again Harry was struck by just how much he resembled his feline counterpart. "You would call it the Foundation Stone. Within the stone lies untapped power that the castle may draw upon and replenish as it sees fit, but it lies dormant and unused in our absence. With our connection, the school was returned to its rightful balance, and the castle coexists with us."

"So it's not meant to just be the headmaster in power and no one else?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Quite so," he agreed with a ponderous inclination of his head. "We created our portraits as a failsafe for our plans. Were the future to deviate too grievously from our original ideals without valid reason, we would hold the power to command the castle and reinstate our wishes."

He paused thoughtfully. "However, we made a mistake in our planning. Our protection of the portraits came at a price. The value of what was within our rooms seemed to us to be greater than that of our presence in the castle. We could not risk their discovery at the time, and our portraits are not infallible. They provide a gateway to our chambers, and without them there was little in the world that would be able to break out protections."

"So you were stuck there," Harry murmured.

Godric regarded him steadily. "The room that we sealed our portraits in could only be unlocked with the presence and co-operation of all Founders. Obviously the enchantments failed over time and with our deaths, for Dumbledore managed to gain entry."

"And he locked you away."

"That he did. Still, two decades is preferable to an eternity trapped within the stone and under a magical void," Godric said with a half-smile. "The castle recognises and welcomes us back like old friends. The Foundation Stone's power is in our grasp, and the castle can adequately protected."

"And Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

Godric's smile broadened into a predatory grin. "He remains only at our discretion."

---

Harry had managed to fish out a large pastoral landscape scene from the myriad of antique junk, and placed it against the watery wall. Soon after, he located a low table, and after calling Winky up for lunch, he and the other Founder's set about explaining the history and events that Godric had missed.

Helga and Rowena had greeted the golden-haired man with tears and smiles, but it had been Salazar that Harry was interested in. he hadn't said a word, but they'd embraced with identical grins that promised mischief worthy of the twins. Harry reflected that it was possibly the first time that he had seen Salazar act so expressively.

Shortly afterwards, his ghostly counterpart had joined them, seating himself next to Harry.

"By Merlin Slytherin," Godric said with a delighted smile, before chuckling. "You always did say that you were going to transcend death, didn't you?"

Salazar had smiled mysteriously. "In more ways than you know," he murmured.

Harry snorted. "Looks like the quest for immortality runs in the family."

Salazar chuckled. "So cynical my little one. It is a fine aim." Harry snorted again, and Salazar turned to the Founders with the familiar secretive smile. "I have chosen him as my Apprentice."

Rowena seemed to be restraining a scowl, and Helga looked torn between disapproval and happiness. Godric merely raised a brow and shot Salazar's painted version a smirk.

"You've been playing with Fate again Slytherin," Godric chastised. Harry noticed that unlike the others, Gryffindor used only their last names.

"Ah, not only I Godric. I suggest you question Rowena closely too," the painting version chuckled.

"Nevertheless," Salazar's ghost cut in smoothly, "I suggest we return to the topic at hand."

"Lord Voldemort," Godric murmured, turning the word over in his mouth. "Time breeds creativity it seems. Diagon never did have the wits to think of something so simple as an anagram."

Helga snorted in disbelief. "Diagon never did have the wits for anything but trying to further his own aims."

Godric cut in gently, turning his attention to Harry. "If Salazar approves of you, I will trust his judgement. He has not been wrong yet. Explain to me your troubles."

Harry shook his head wearily. "Right. I'm Fated to destroy Voldemort and that's the way my life will end. Because of the Prophecy and our Bond, we're in theory immortal until either of us dies, or rather, we until we kill each other. But I can live with that for the moment. It will work itself out."

"The problem is," he continued. "That Draco Malfoy, a boy who went to my school and is now a Death Eater has been thrown into the mix. I accidentally formed a Soul Bond with him through Soul Metal in a Potions accident, and Voldemort's branded him with the Dark Mark over that."

"You have a responsibility to him," Godric acknowledged. Harry inclined his head with a bitter smile.

"So somehow I need to find out how the Dark Mark works, and currently the only thing I can think of is getting branded with it myself, which really isn't on my 'To Do Before I Die' list," Harry said sardonically. "Now I've found you, I need to go down to the Chamber of Secrets and cut up basilisk parts for my irritable Potions Professor turned Dark Arts instructor, teach a group of my friends and people who still support me after the newspaper articles proposing to the world that I've been going around killing people, steal a very valuable spell manuscript and raise an island."

Godric stared at him in surprise for a long moment before laughing softly. "Child, no wizard could say that you are without ambition. I suggest that you go into greater detail, and we can propose methods to aid you."

Harry nodded and created a piece of parchment and a quill. He covered his plans for the individual bases in very close detail, as Godric insisted on going over them and working out the plans down to the last grain of information. Meanwhile, all four Founders worked to suggest theories of construction, concealment, and protection, bouncing plausible ideas off one another until Harry had covered several sides of parchment with notes. He came to understand a good deal more about how Hogwarts had been put together than he'd ever suspected he would in his lifetime. It was obvious that between the four of them they hadn't cut any corners in its construction.

They went over the plan for a complex charm web that would act as the basis for the protection of cave bases. Harry had the choice to either link it to a central focus, such as a Foundation Stone, or to a magical trigger linked to him. The benefits of having a focus were such that the spell work used was of far greater stability, but the protection was fallible in that when the physical focus was destroyed, so the magical structure came down. A magical focus linked to him would be less stable, but its strength would be of level with his powers. The down side was that if he overexerted himself, as he was sure he would, the protections would fall.

Harry decided that he would have to test the theories of both methods, but was pleased with the results of a tentative hypothesis on the combination of the methods. He had time to experiment. All the time in the world in fact.

As the Founders inevitably became distracted in their debates over the use of post-casting reactive spells, Harry found himself beginning to drift. It was strange to imagine that he was, in effect, immortal. All the signs led to that. Even the prophecy's wording '_neither can survive while the other is alive'_ made that clear. Voldemort wasn't alive. He knew that. There was just something that sang wrong about the man. He might be a soul in a body, but he wasn't like other living things. Strangely, that cancelled the effect of that line of the prophecy, almost inverting it. If Voldemort wasn't alive then he wouldn't be effected by Harry's life, and in the same sense, Harry could survive.

He remembered that strange, distorted conversation he had had in the man's mind. It had felt like home…out of all of the minds he had visited or could have visited, he had ended up there. He had been _drawn_ there. The setting had been too similar to contemplate, the mind too familiar for comfort. Voldemort had been right, of course. In some ways they were closer than brothers, more intimate than lovers. He could feel Voldemort's emotions from miles away. How often had he seen the inside of his head? Too often. There were dreams here and there, he knew, that he wouldn't remember upon waking. He could see them more clearly now. That will to survive, to continue, to _exist._

Yes, they were very much alike. Too much for Dumbledore's comfort anyway.

_Bound together by blood, soul and magic. How romantic, little one,_ came the amused murmur in his head. _Practically bound by marriage…all it would take was a little manipulation of the bonds…_

Harry snorted mirthlessly. There were some times when Salazar's humour was unappreciated. _No thanks. Despite the gothic appeal of marrying the man who murdered my parents and countless others, I'll have to pass._ _Can you even marry a man in the Wizarding World?_

He received a mental shrug in return. _Marriage is simply another form of bond. I cannot not see why not, although the term marriage is generally restrained for a pairing that can bring forth an heir. You could always take a Lovers Bond._

This time Harry's chuckle held a hint of humour. _If only Voldemort could hear us now. Again: No thank you. Possible or no, unless it lets me kill him without dying myself, that's an emphatic no._

Salazar's laugh resounded around his skull. _Resume your attention, little one._

"-balance between predictions and actuality," Helga said, gesticulating forcefully. "Although that is somewhat prevalent in Charm-work, the same does not apply to Pure Transfiguration."

"To some sects of Pure Transfiguration," Rowena corrected with a frown. "But if you follow Vaber's principle then the addition of a catalyst, preferably a gaseous substance, then it becomes possible."

"Or," Salazar cut in smoothly, "You could use the African branch of magic and apply Voodoo theories, resulting in the conversion continuing as it is applied to the focus."

Harry blinked in surprise. He supposed that years of overhearing magical theory did that to a person. Godric shot him a grin.

"I believe we have come up with a solution to your problems with stone," he told him. Harry nodded with interest. This had been one of his major concerns. He doubted that orders of stone in the quantities he needed them would go unnoticed.

With a flick of his hand, Godric simultaneously silenced the others' debates and conjured a small pebble to hang in front of Harry's nose.

"You take a pebble of the substance you wish to use," he said in that slow growl of a voice. "This will act as a comparison and the template for each square of stone. I would recommend that you chose a base substance that has little interfering magic and would not be missed. Preferably something that will not need to be enlarged." He paused. "You understand the principles behind enlargement charms," he stated as a question.

"They are more of magic than actual, physical substance, right?" Harry confirmed.

Godric nodded. "Correct. You have two choices. If you use an Impure Transfiguration to begin with, then you will need to apply corrections later. If you begin with a Pure Transfiguration, the strength required-" he cut himself off, looking suddenly contemplative. "Slytherin, how powerful did you say the child is?"

Salazar's expression broadened into a pleased smirk. "He fought and killed my Basilisk in his second year with no effects to show for it," he told him, and Harry watched with fascination as the implications struck Helga and Rowena.

Godric chuckled. "You would pick no one less for your Apprentice, would you Slytherin? Very well," he said, turning to Harry. "Have you considering manipulating the magma beneath the surface of the earth?"

Harry's eyes widened. That idea hadn't even occurred to him. Even Salazar was looking a little surprised by the suggestion.

"Elemental magic of that magnitude would require a supply of Light magic," the fourth Founder said, turning the suggestion over. Godric shook his head, making the mane of hair sway from side to side.

"Not at all. Elemental magic is undefined in the purest sense," he countered.

Salazar appeared intrigued. "I never possessed an aptitude for the subject."

Godric caught his gaze with a smile. "I practised it only in a limited fashion in my travels, but I learnt a great sum more. I was honoured to witness the manipulation of a lava flow away from the village I was visiting and to my knowledge it takes very little magical power but a good grasp of control. Magma in itself is highly magical, which is why fauna flourishes so abundantly in such areas."

Harry looked at him sceptically. "You're saying that I could split the seabed open and build an island out of magma?"

Godric greeted him with a broad smile. "Exactly so."

---

Peter sighed restlessly. At least, he reflected as he surreptitiously heated the meagre food that he'd procured, he wasn't hallucinating anymore. The Muggles in the supermarket had given him odd looks as he'd purchased the tins of soup and canned meat, but not as odd as if he'd still been covered in his own blood and talking to himself. He was thankful he'd managed to restrain himself that long.

The money that he carefully converted to Muggle pounds when he went on his expeditions was running low. He hadn't expected to be gone this long. It would have simply been a quick reconnaissance mission, and then he'd look around the school for clues. The Dark Lord had warned him of the utmost secrecy expected, since he had word that the Order were joining the search too. The master was becoming increasingly paranoid. He knew that there was a spy within his ranks, and Peter had been under suspicion.

He shuddered involuntarily. The Dark Lord knew that he didn't have the courage that betrayal took, not since he'd restored him to his body. He may be a simpering fool, but there was a reason that he'd never constructed more than meagre Occlumency barriers in the man's service. He was skilled at hiding, not deception. If the Dark Lord noticed barriers, then he would suspect that he was hiding something other than his own miserable hide. It was his job to be unobtrusive. If he gave everything away, if they thought you'd given everything away, then the things that were most important would go unnoticed.

Shifting in his position so that the wounds on his side didn't tug on him so, he listlessly stirred his meal, spooning another mouthful past his lips. The tinned meat was unpleasant and a little leathery, sort of how he imagined cat food to be. Thankfully he'd never had to stoop to that level – it was too dangerous for a rat. But he had lived lower than this before, and probably would again. He'd become used to it, or at least if not used to it then resigned to it. Life hadn't been kind to him, after all. By now, he expected nothing more.

He'd originally joined Voldemort's service through weakness. He couldn't hold out when family was threatened. He was loyal to a fault. The Hat had toyed with placing him in Hufflepuff originally. He had been the heart of the group, and he'd held everything together throughout all of the various troubles and triumphs. Even through that unpleasant incident with Severus Snape when Remus had nearly killed him.

But he'd been the first to crack. He could hold other people together, but he couldn't do the same for himself. Bitterly, he reflected how easy it had been to turn him. His mother may have been ill, may have been almost to her deathbed, but she was family. He'd had a sister, a Muggle. She'd had a family and two little boys. He hadn't been able to turn his back on them, not even for his friends.

It had been twisted loyalty, yes, and cowardice. He didn't doubt that Dumbledore could have helped him, but by the time he was considering it, it was too late. He could remember those horrible blank eyes of his friend staring up at him. Nothing any man should have to do, but what many men would have done in his place. Had done.

Peter sighed again and stood gently. He didn't like to think about such things, but he always found it in the back of his mind, waiting to run out like a film someone had looped so that it would play over and over, scene after scene, frame after frame.

When it came down to it, he was consumed by self-hatred. He might fear for his life, but what he was doing went against the tattered morals he had left. He thought about what his parents would say about him now. What his sister would. What his nephews might think if they knew the crimes he'd committed.

There was a horrible sense of irony about it all really. Betraying his friends for his family, Harry for his nephews. Escaping guilty while his friend was sent to prison, innocent. Hailed as a hero, while Sirius was hailed as a psychopath and a murderer.

Oh yes, what irony. His self-hatred would eat him alive if he wasn't so scared. Fear and pain dominated his life. That and resignation. He didn't want to die, and he didn't believe in what he was doing, but he wasn't brave enough to act on that. How tragic, he thought, how un-Gryffindor.

The Dark Lord knew, of course. The Dark Lord knew all that went on in his mind, except for one important secret. What had he said when he'd begged to prove his loyalty in the graveyard?

'_You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain Wormtail. You know that, don't you?'_

Yes, he did know. He knew that above all else. He paid his debt with his pain. But he knew that there was as yet one debt that couldn't be repaid by his suffering.

---


	61. Sneaking in the Library

_**Important/Important/Important**__**First off, I want to apologise for disappearing off for months and leaving my stories without updates. A combination of being free from school, earning money and not spending my spare time reading/writing fanfiction is to blame. Second, what is going to be posted from this point is un-edited, un-beta'd, poorly written, riddled with plotholes and mistakes, and over a year and a half old. That said, there are still roughly thirty or so chapters kicking around on my hard-drive that maybe as well be brought into the daylight. When they run out, I'll post a short synopsis of how I'd planned for it to end, and hit the tale with a big red ABANDONED stamp. And…heheh…Merry Christmas!**_

---

Sneaking in the Library 

---

Outside of the private Potions lab, Harry stood hidden under his Chameleon Skin. He leant casually against the wall, thinking over his plans. The Founders had been helpful in their suggestions, although they were more equipped to deal with the construction of his island than his bad press.

That was still one of the items on his 'To Solve' list that he just didn't have a clue how to face. He knew very well now that the Ministry would simply love to hang their saviour in a spin of lies, and Sirius had beyond proven that their benevolence didn't extend to even a simple truth serum. No, as he wasn't about to risk his hide with some vindictive Ministry Official, it seemed that he would have to bypass the front and go straight to the source.

Voldemort was behind this. He could feel it in his gut. Besides there were few others who could pull off such a feat, right?

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if it really had all been some dream. What if he'd lost his mind in the maze and was just carrying on where he left off? Hell, if he went by that philosophy the Dursleys could have dumped him in a mental asylum and he'd wake up one day to realise he'd imagined it all.

Ah, if only, he thought bitterly.

No, no. This was real enough. This would be his last day before he officially left the castle and began life properly. It was both forbidding and exciting. From now on, he'd be pretty much on his own. It was _his_ plan, _his_ fate.

Humming a slight tune, he checked the time once more before Fading into the room. Snape wasn't there yet, which didn't bother him too much; he was roughly twenty minutes early. Still, he couldn't restrain a distant worry that the irritable Potion's Master might go to Dumbledore after all. Taking a seat at the long desk, he waited.

He didn't have long.

Snape swept suspiciously in from the corridor, casting a narrowed gaze around the room. Closing the door behind him, he erected several Silencing and privacy charms before eyeing the empty space once more.

With a twist of his mouth, Harry created a flashing neon arrow to hover above his head. Snape's eyes widened and then narrowed.

"Potter," he said somewhat neutrally, as if he were making a concerted effort at civility. His voice came out sounding rather grudging, as if he were reluctant to waste his words at all. "If you would cease the attention-seeking light-show…" he trailed off with a meaningful glance towards the arrow.

Repressing the urge to smile at the man, Harry dropped the Chameleon Skin and cancelled his luridly flashing lights.

"Professor," he replied in an equally neutral tone.

With a resigned sigh, the man spoke. "You have quite aptly flaunted your magical power, but the Dark Arts require _control_, and despite the marginal improvement," he bit out with reluctance, "you will need to restrain your emotions and intentions to a far finer degree."

Harry inclined his head slightly. There was no need to dispute what he knew to be true. Salazar's tutelage and Occlumency had helped him, but if he was in a fury then he knew without any doubts that his magic would become wild.

"The Dark Arts are eternal," he said, voice becoming softer. "They provide a universally necessary balance in each individual. They, unlike the Light Arts, are not at the surface of magic. They are entrenched so deeply in us that they are as inseparable as our very souls, and the mutate, change and develop accordingly." His eyes turned to Harry, and he found himself staring into twin pools of inky blackness. "Fighting the Dart Arts is like fighting the hydra. Each head that is removed is only the nursery for two more, faster, stronger and cleverer than before. The only true way to combat the Dart Arts," he said, with a loving caress in his voice, "is to use the Dark Arts themselves."

"Fire with fire," Harry replied. Snape's lip curled.

"Put crudely, yes," he agreed. "We will need to assess your knowledge of the subject before I can begin instructing you. Provide an overview of the spells you have been taught," he ordered.

Harry couldn't help his mouth curling upwards slightly. "I haven't been taught spells, sir. I've been taught how to use my magic."

Snape's brows raised, and he seemed to be fighting back a scathing dismissal. "Indeed."

Harry frowned a little as he pondered how to approach an explanation. "Do you know about the varying levels of Light and Dark magic in a person?" he asked.

"Naturally," Snape said, not quite managing to restrain a sneer. "It is a requisite of understanding the Dark Arts."

"And when you use your magic, do you choose to draw it straight from the Darker side, or do you pick a spell that does it for you?" Harry continued.

Snape's expression changed from one of condescension to that of a man trying to contemplate something from an unbiased viewpoint. A difficult feat, considering their history. With a frown of his own, he conjured himself a chair and sat opposite.

"I have not yet managed to grasp more than a limited selection of the Dark Arts wandlessly," he admitted finally. Harry shook his head slightly.

"Wandless magic has nothing to do with it, apart from not alerting the tracking spells on your wand," Harry said, watching Snape's eyes narrow at his knowledge. "I suppose it's being aware of the connection with your magic. Anyone can do wandless spells, they just need to realise how."

This time Snape couldn't suppress his disbelief, and it crossed his face with a scornful curl of the lip. "Quite how you have come to that conclusion Potter, I haven't the slightest idea. Were that possible, we would already be abusing the technique."

Harry shook his head again. "The wand is a focus, isn't it?" Snape nodded. "Well, the focus is to bridge the gap your mind has to summon your magic. The magical elements in the wood only facilitate the process. Really, you could use any old stick if you believed it would work."

Snape still appeared sceptical, but Harry was just pleased that he was still bothering to pay attention and not merely dismissing him out of hand as he would have done a few months ago. "Let's say your magic is a lake," Harry suggested, using the now familiar example. With a flick of his hand, he conjured a three dimensional illusion of a flat blue lake between them. "And this," he said, marking a red dot in the air above, "is where your magic becomes active. If you have a wand, then it does it for you, it funnels the water up." He created a see-through pipe running from the lake to the dot.

"However," he said with a smile, banishing the pipe, "when you know how, the power of your mind works just as effectively." With a gentle wave of his fingers, a thin thread of water span up from the lake's surface. "The only problem is your reservations about it being impossible. If they took away all our wands at this moment, everyone's in the world, then someone would eventually find a way."

Snape was still looking at him with some scepticism, but there was a glint of thoughtfulness as he regarded the illusion. "You are suggesting that we have become complacent then," he murmured.

"Exactly," Harry said emphatically.

"Then why is there not a higher degree of control among magical children?" Snape asked. "The feat in itself is very rare."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe they aren't focused enough, or they've been brought up with those safety wands. I don't know."

Snape slowly inclined his head. "But the level of control is not unheard of," he agreed. "Continue with your theories."

Harry dropped the stream of water back to the surface of the lake. With a little concentration, the lake gained an illusion of depth, the pale, shimmering blue of the surface fading to murky deeps.

"The top of the lake is where the Light magic is – warm, stable, and light. The depths are harder to access at first, but it beneath the surface they deteriorate into Dark magic," Harry said.

Snape made a noncommittal sound. "You propose that the balance of Light and Dark magic is relative to the proportions of the 'lake'."

Harry nodded. "If we summon a string of Dark magic," he said, watching a stream of black water thread up to break the surface and connect with the red dot.

Snape snorted. "It is an unsound theory Potter."

Harry sighed. "How else do you explain it then? That's what I use." Not waiting for a reply, he summoned the memory of the process to the forefront of his mind and tapped his temples. Snape's brows rose a little, but Harry soon felt the familiar harsh probing into his head. He hated to imagine what it would feel like if Snape were attacking at full power. Probably like someone bludgeoning his head with a crowbar.

Blinking, Snape sat back. His usually blank expression gained a pensive tinge, and he continued to stare ruminatively at the illusion. Finally, he turned fathomless black eyes to Harry with a frown.

"You have raised an interesting topic Potter…nonetheless," he continued. "I will reserve judgement for now." He paused again, seemingly dragging his mind back to the task at hand. "Perhaps it would be best, for the moment, to focus your attention on the spells your enemy will be using. If you are as unrestrained in your magic as you believe yourself to be, then you will be able to adapt and familiarise yourself with the particular effects of the spell. You can attempt to mimic the particular signature of the spell and its effects."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. It made sense. He might even be able to improve them in some places if he were merely concentrating on the feeling of the magic rather than guiding gestures and commands.

Snape stood. Picking up a piece of parchment from the desk, he enlarged it and suspended it in mid air. With a flick of his wand, a large tear dashed down the middle.

"_Verber, _the Lashing curse. It is one of the simplest of Dark spells, and one that is most often used as an introductory exercise," Snape began. "It was invented some time in the feudal period as a method of punishing vassals."

The next hour and a half dissolved in a whirl of spells, all lovingly and intricately described. They went over the genre of Cutting Curses and Hexes. There was the Lashing Curse, and other, crueller variants. There were the ones designed to inflict the sensation but not the injury. There were the ones to sever particular parts of the body – "_Venas_ the vein cutting curse," – and yet more to create myriads of tiny gashes all over the body. By the end of it all, Harry was feeling profoundly misanthropic, and more than a little shocked at the sheer variety of ways people had invented to hurt someone.

"We are barely brushing the surface Potter," Snape told him with a malicious smirk. Harry shot him a scowl. He'd nearly retorted that he didn't _need_ to know this much, but bit his tongue. He'd learn, because the time might come when he would need to know what the enemy had done, whether to himself or his friends. He refused to consider that he might be using these some day.

Snape eyed him appraisingly. "We will finish here for today," he said after a slight pause. Moving towards the desk, he picked up a book and slapped it into Harry's hands. '1000 Methods to Draw Blood', Harry read, before shooting a curious look up at the Potions Master.

"I expect you to be able to recognise the curses I showed you today by sight. You have until our next lesson," he told him coldly. Harry sighed inwardly. Only Snape would give him homework on the Dark Arts.

Withdrawing a scroll from his pockets, he deposited that too in Harry's hands. Interested, Harry unrolled it and instantly wished that he hadn't. There appeared to have once been a diagram of a Basilisk or large snake beneath all the spidery notes that were crammed onto the parchment. Harry looked up at him, unable to help the incredulous expression that spread across his face. Snape merely raised a brow. Harry might have been able to intimidate him a few days ago, but in the classroom he still held the power.

"It is essential that the utmost precision is used in the extraction of the organs and venom," he told him with a smirk tugging the corners of his lips. "Of course, it would be far less trouble to you if I was to accompany you."

Harry felt his own lips curl, but not in humour. He'd picked up more than a few disdainful expressions from Salazar in their time together, and he wasn't as disturbed as he thought he would be to find himself using them unconsciously.

"You're already getting far more out of this bargain than you should Snape," Harry told him. "The Chamber of Secrets will remain a secret."

Snape's face soured, but Harry could tell that he hadn't been expecting to succeed. Sensing periphery thoughts came in handy once in awhile, but not with a man like Snape. No, being able to read the man came from years of studying him for danger signs rather than anything magical.

"Return here the following Friday," Snape said with finality. Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one. Stuffing the book and scroll into his pockets, he did his Fake Apparition and Faded out of the room.

With the Chameleon Skin wrapped firmly around him, he walked at a leisurely pace down the corridors. Night had begun to fall since he'd left Snape's lesson and the curfew for the students would be coming into effect soon. He still had to dodge a few latecomers heading back to their common rooms, but he gradually made his way to the library with little trouble.

This time he was searching for something a little different among the shelves. The sight of a single golden title in Dumbledore's office scant days before had sparked off a whole chain of memories, and now he had a goal in mind. It was only this year that he had access to the Restricted Section, and even then there were books that could only be read with permission. Others weren't even allowed to leave the library, and there were a very select few that were only allowed to be read under supervision.

Since it was after eight and the library's closing time, Harry arrived in time to feel Irma Pince ordering the catalogue and going over the day's book loans with his magical senses. He caught a great multitude of stray thoughts, most of them about students defiling the library tomes, but there were a few that made Harry blush and rather strongly wish he'd never heard them in the first place.

He had a feeling that Madame Pince was one of the witches that was rather more sensitive to magic than most. She always managed to be able to single out students who were hiding in the library, and a few times he had known her to discover charms on books before going over them with her wand. With this in mind, Harry wasn't about to take chances. His magical senses were unobtrusive and subtle, but he felt sure that anything more would be noticed. Besides, he would like nothing less than for Dumbledore or another teacher to discover him snooping in the library when he was wanted for murder in the outside world. Dumbledore may protect him, but Harry was sure as hell that his motives weren't pure and honest.

In actual fact, Harry was quite eager to test one of the techniques he had found in Salazar's less than reputable book. There had been an entire chapter dedicated to magical masking, and even though Harry was unable to remember the spells involved at the time, the theory had sunk in nicely. Attuning his senses to the magical aura of the room, he focused on moulding his own magic to match it. It took him several minutes to come even close to the musty, bookish feel of the place, but when he felt he was near enough he let a smile of satisfaction cross his face. Not bad for a first try. Slipping a thread of magic around the door to mask it opening, Harry stepped into the velvety quiet of the library.

Irma Pince didn't even blink as he passed her, wrapped not only in the Chameleon Skin, but its magical equivalent. He would have to look into incorporating that into the main concept.

Harry decided to start small. Ignoring the lure of the Restricted Section, he headed towards the expansive section on history. Naturally, he knew that he wasn't going to get the kind of information he wanted in a school, but he might get the background on the subject. After browsing through several shelves and books later, Harry encountered a brief mention of the information he wanted. Rooting around in his pockets for his book of combined notes, he sat down at one of the tables and began to transcribe.

In his time with Salazar and the other Founders, he had managed to amass a great deal of scraps of parchment covered in his scrawl, detailing everything from construction spells to Animagus transformations. Making an executive decision, he had bound them together, and several spells later had managed to make his writing someone bearable on the eyes. Really, he could almost understand Snape's harsh red comments in the margins of his essays when they looked like this. Almost.

Returning the book to its shelf, Harry continued to browse. A good deal of time later, he had amounted a page of notes and references.

_Well, _he mused,_ that's as much as can be expected._

As he felt Madame Pince leaving the library, he tucked the last book back onto the shelf and replaced his own journal of notes in his pocket. When he was sure that she was safely back in her quarters, and that Dumbledore was upstairs in his office, he made for the Restricted Section. If he was truthful, the fact that Dumbledore was in his office worried him, because who knew what wards he'd put up over this particular section of the library.

Walking warily towards the forbidden books, he felt ahead of him with his magical senses. He knew that there were wards that would be triggered by the slightest magical presence, even ghosts and spirits, but they were usually placed around highly valuable objects or places. He doubted he'd encounter one of those, but if he did unprepared, he'd go off like a skyrocket.

He sensed the usual age restriction charms, but these were designed to target the person's age and send an alarm to the appropriate staff member. There was a subtle tingle around the edge of the section that made his skin prickle. Something about it made him feel strange, as if he were at the bars of a cage looking in, but everything inside appeared to be empty.

Frowning, he sharpened his senses and examined the sensation with greater scrutiny. There was a repressive quality in the magic that seemed to be rooted in the stone floor beneath his feet. It ran all the way round the Restricted Section, but Harry found it difficult to divine the true identity of the familiar feeling he got from it. The barrier was meant to keep something in at the very least, but whatever it was wasn't there. He was just glad that the barrier was only tuned to react on non-living beings. If Dumbledore had attuned it to him…well, safe to say that that would have put him severely on edge.

Finding the first set of wards harmless, Harry continued into the Restricted Section proper. It was divided into various subcategories – there were shelves for the Dark Arts, others for deeply forbidden subjects such as the Soul Arts, Blood Magic and a few volumes on Necromancy. There was a book on Sex Magic, which had Harry sniggering under his silencing blanket of magic and another on some of the more gruesome aspects of Divination.

What he really wanted though, was beyond this. Padding softly down between the steep corridor of shelves, Harry tuned his senses as carefully as he could. A flash of the whole school showed that Dumbledore was still in his office and the area around the library relatively empty.

With irritation, Harry detected a pressure-triggered spell on the threshold of the next section of books. Trust Dumbledore to be sneaky like that. Even from this distance he could feel the man's distinctive presence in the spell. He obviously hadn't bothered to mask it like some of his others. Disabling it, Harry continued his scan.

The books around him were all tagged with a spell that triggered upon their removal from the shelf, another on removal from the Restricted Section, another on their removal from the library and yet another from the school. Harry couldn't believe the extent of the spellwork on these. And these charms were on top of all the usual preservation and marking charms.

Inching forwards, Harry encountered the real wards. There was one to draw instant attention to someone attempting to enter the section without permission from the librarian, or after hours. There was another age restriction, and one that required a recognised teaching presence. Triggering the wrong reaction from any of these wards would stun and incapacitate the victim.

Irritated, Harry closed his eyes to focus. The first ward wasn't difficult to dismantle, as it was structured via the lock and key variety. He simply moulded his magic into the suitable 'shape' and slotted together. The age restriction one wasn't a problem, but he didn't want to be picked up at all, so after several minutes of silent cursing and frustration, he managed to divine that the ward reacted to the age of the magic and the age supposed in the mind. Harry promptly drew up barriers to shield himself from detection.

The last ward was the real problem. He had two choices really. The first was trying to synthesise another magical presence to match that of one of the staff, or to try and bypass it all together. Since he hadn't a chance in hell of creating a magical illusion of someone he hadn't closely examined, he went for the second.

As it turned out, the ward was one of the more complex ones. It was triggered by magical presence, and if the staff member did not go first then alarms would be rung. Growling, Harry examined it for a good deal more time before admitting to himself that there was no way he was going to be able to pass this without more knowledge of wards.

It was as he was drifting disappointedly back to the other wards that he picked up on something. The ward stretched towards the ceiling, but it was an older, more rigid design. It couldn't curve and surround the rest of the section in a bubble as other wards could.

Smirking, Harry turned back. All he needed to do was get onto the ceiling.

Well, if there was one thing magic was good for, he mused, it was the impossible. The Wandless Magic exercise with wooden cubes had more than familiarised him with the techniques behind levitation. However, he had a different idea.

Summoning many threads of magic around him, from all his limbs, his waist, his every finger, he sent them shooting up into the stone above him like grappling hooks. They sink tendrils into the stone, and Harry felt the castle shift uneasily. Sending a calming wave towards it, Harry slowly started to reel himself in.

It was a very strange sensation, he mused, to be suspended in mid air as if he were rock climbing with invisible ropes. He was slowly inching towards the ceiling, and as he went he sunk more hooks into the porous body of the rock until he was firmly entrenched in his position, stuck like a lizard on the ceiling.

Tentatively, he lifted one hand and moved it forwards, followed by a foot, and another hand. Gradually gaining confidence, he crawled forwards, watching the world from upside-down. He could certainly use this skill again. Moving faster as he was getting the hang of shifting his weight, he felt ahead for the ward.

It fell just a little over the top of the bookcases, a slight fizz in his magical senses. He wouldn't have a problem topping it, as long as he didn't screw up and do something stupid. There was a moment earlier as he had moved when he'd felt that he hadn't anchored himself and was in danger of falling. He really didn't want to do that now.

He passed the ward, the power in it making his hair stand up on end and a shiver run down his spine. Dumbledore would have known had he messed with it. He was sure of that now.

Soon he was past, and examining the circular room beyond. It had another detector spell woven along the ground, but Harry had proven that he didn't need to touch the floor to get what he wanted. Slowly lowering himself into the middle of the room, he stopped a few feet from the floor and examined the various books.

Some were visible restrained by chains, and others he felt magical bindings on, for good reason. Some of these books had some rather unpleasant enchantments on them.

However, that wasn't what he was looking for, although he was certainly interested. No, what he wanted was a small, unobtrusive volume detailing several historical uprises. What he was looking for was one name.

In the lower corner of one of the shelves, Harry spied what he wanted. Sliding it out magically, he began to skim the pages.

There. One name, and his only lead.

Cruvian.

---


	62. Mercury Avenue

---

Mercury Avenue looked sleepy and quiet in the early morning light. Shopkeepers were beginning to set up their stalls, whilst the glass blowers and metal workers were putting the finishing touches on the days wares.

The street was unlike other wizarding places he had visited. It was straight and formal, the buildings done in paler tones rather than the garishly bright colours in Diagon Alley. Unlike other locations, it didn't have the characteristic meander to the roads that seemed to mark all wizarding settlements. The shops and stores were neat and orderly, and the wizards and witches behind the counter were well kept and polite. In short, Harry was very much aware that he had entered an upmarket and professional area designed to cater to a certain class of wizard.

The stores spoke of craftsmanship and design. When the upperclassmen wanted a mansion or manor house built, they turned to Mercury Avenue. There were shops that dealt purely in stone, others in masonry, woodwork, glasswork, metalwork, fabrics, spellwork, warding, and carving. In short, almost anything that dealt with raw materials and their transmutation into something else.

Harry had several particular reasons for visiting the area. Primarily, he was dominated by his curiosity, that same instinct that had driven him into so many dire situations. He had wanted to visit the place, but with his Apprenticeship things had not gone as planned. He suspected that if he didn't visit it now, he wouldn't be able to have a proper look around for a long time.

The second reason was more practical. He would need stone in large amounts whether or not he was able to manipulate the lava to such an extent as he needed it. Some things, he had resolved, just had to be done the traditional way. He simply didn't have the years of practice it took to work in stone with any skill, and he wouldn't be able to do a Pure Transfiguration if he didn't intimately know his subject.

The third reason was that he was going to have to familiarise himself with the crafts used in the construction of wizarding houses. The primary bases and caves he was sure that he could make liveable, but if they were going to be properly done then they would need to be done by a Master, and the concentration of Masters was within Mercury Alley. Not only that, but the island was a completely other story. Currently, his theories were just that – theories. With the island he would be unable to do much himself; he needed Masters of their crafts to do their work, but he had a feeling in his gut that some of the requirements would be a challenge even for them. It wasn't every day that people wanted to raise an island.

Locating an elegant little café, he purchased some breakfast to eat on the go and strolled casually down the long avenue, mentally cataloguing shops that he should return to after he overview of the area.

It was pleasant, if a little nerve-wracking at first to be able to walk down the streets unnoticed, but this method was infinitely more preferable to being arrested and dropped in Azkaban. While he was no Metamorphmagus, he had something that other wizards didn't. His magic was incredibly malleable, and as he had asked Salazar, when does an illusion become reality? If he looked different, felt different, smelt different, sounded different…well, only he would be able to tell what he really was. The previous evening had been spent sleeplessly, practising until he was able to make his disguise plausible. It was by no means flawless in the slightest, and because of that he had made sure to mask himself only subtly, changing his appearance to one that was of slightly more aristocratic breed. He had lightened his hair with a variety of Human Transfiguration rather than relying on external magic, and shifted certain features around.

Because his magic was far more active than others, surrounding him, laced through his veins and bones, the very air he breathed, he was able to achieve a Metamorphmagus-like shift. He would never achieve that intuitive rearrangement of his features or stature, but he could come close to mimicking the effects. His magic effectively created a second skin laid over his own. He did all he could via simple bits of Human transfiguration by changing hair and eye colour, but the shifts in his facial structure had to be done differently. He lowered his cheekbones, making his face a little broader and friendlier. He changed his nose, making it more aquiline. Also, after Salazar cut through his changes to point out to him that anyone would recognise his posture and build, he made his shoulders appear a little broader and his body a little plumper. It certainly didn't hurt to add some meat to his bones, even if it was just an illusion.

He currently looked the epitome of the slightly pampered aristocratic wizard around his twenties. His robes were more formal, in a muted grey, but they spoke of wealth. If he wanted to blend in, then he would need to act the part. Luckily for him, from the looks of things he wouldn't need to appear intimidating. Now if this were Knockturn Alley…well, he would have chosen a far darker persona.

He had managed to drop into a fitful doze after obtaining the information from the library, but he had been woken as another Chill had swept the castle. Furiously casting warming charms on himself, he had wondered whether their power was increasing. It certainly seemed that way, as the Founder's rooms hadn't been affected so strongly before. He had opted to spend his time in Salazar's rooms once more, using his time to experiment and play around with his features.

Since the unpleasant incident with the uncontrolled Shadow Magic, Harry had only conversed with his redheaded friend via the crystals. He had successfully added a few alterations to his pendant following Salazar's instructions, and his crystal would now respond to its partner, indicating several of Ginny's life functions. Since Harry was woefully inadequate at Stone Fastening, a discipline that took years to perfect, Salazar had once more taken control of his mind to perform the required spells, all the while giving him a running commentary on his actions.

The lump of obsidian could now be activated to pulse in time with her heartbeat, and vary in temperature with each inhalation and exhalation. Harry found this a little disturbing, but he couldn't ignore the benefits. If she were in trouble, he would know. The changes to the crystal could be triggered by either of these functions reaching a warning limit. If her heart was far too slow, or her breathing limited, Harry would become aware of it. That at least he was glad for.

Since his rude awakening at the sudden drop in temperature, Harry had returned to writing up his findings. He and Godric had discussed his Charms web for the Animagus Transformation, and the Founder had been extraordinarily helpful. Of the Founders, Godric was the only one to become a Charms Master, and Salazar estimated that their knowledge of the Mind Arts was vast between them. Salazar had the benefits of his ghostly existence to pass on, but Godric had been a Master of the Mind Arts whilst alive, and had always come out on top of Salazar, a fact that he was only to happy to remind him of. Harry would definitely be returning to take advantage of his knowledge and experience. He estimated that with the Founders help, he would be able to facilitate his Animagus Transformation in a few months, given no unforeseeable circumstances. But then again, he was the Boy-Who-Lived. There were always unforeseeable circumstances.

Fascinated, Harry cast subtle looks for the glimpses of furnaces and powerful magic that went on in the workshops behind the storefronts. Wizarding methods of metalwork and glasswork were not too dissimilar to Muggle methods, but the magic that went into the pieces took a lifetime to master. Indeed, in the glimpses of the careers leaflets they had been given the previous year, there were selective Apprenticeships to certified masters if they approved of the student. Generally though, like wand making, the disciplines remained a family business, Apprenticeships opened only when the master had no heir to pass on the skills to.

Harry vaguely wondered whether Ollivander had an heir. If he could somehow procure a place as his Apprentice too, that would fill into his plans nicely. He knew, however, that that was a pipe dream with less than honourable intentions. He wouldn't have the time, and he had no desire to open a business in wands any time soon. All he really wanted was knowledge of what the Ministry restrictions and spells required in wands were.

Still, he mused, that sort of information could be got elsewhere. All he needed was political sway and a good informant. Not for the first time, he found himself impressed by the sheer variety of useful people that both Dumbledore and Voldemort had amassed. Both had undoubtedly done their damnedest to get every little finger and toe in all important organisations and circles in the Wizarding world. It certainly wouldn't hurt to poke his nose into Order business and see what it was really about. Dumbledore had, after all, only given him the briefest rundown, and Sirius and Remus had been restrained in their letters for security purposes.

Finishing off the bun he was eating, he licked his fingers and headed towards the first store on his list. Whilst he had been walking he had entered the weapons sector of the metalworkers. It wasn't uncommon in the higher classes to be skilled in fencing, and although he had been given brief instruction from Salazar, the Founder had insisted that he invest in his own weapons before they began their true training. Some of the knives and swords he would be able to obtain here, but others he would have to get through less legal means. Unfortunately, although Salazar was skilled with Spell Fastening, the spells were applied after the product was created. He had informed Harry that if he wanted truly effective weaponry then he would have to find a master craftsman who could weave in the desired spells whilst the item was created.

Salazar had been less prevalent in his recent dealings, leaving him to go about his tasks by himself. The Founder had admitted to having other things to keep track of anyway, and Harry had no doubt that he was busily collecting information from around the castle. He shuddered to think of the sheer volume of blackmail material the man must have over the students and staff, let alone those who had already left the school. Yet, if he were allowed access to some of that precious information then it would lend Harry a distinct advantage.

He had initially been surprised that the ghost could leave the castle, but he could concede that he knew very little about ghosts. Salazar had mentioned that he had travelled the world before coming to rest at the castle itself, hadn't he? Slytherin had explained to him that he had understood that Hogwarts would be his resting-place until he chose an Apprentice, if ever. That was why he had travelled from his burial site around the world before returning to await the time when he would be set free again. By forging the Apprentice Bonds with Harry, he had effectively turned his binds to Harry himself. Wherever Harry went, he could go too.

Ducking through the doorway, Harry entered a neat, orderly shop. A bell sound rang through as he entered although he couldn't see one above the door, and not long after a pale young man came into the room, stepping up behind the counter.

"Can I help you sir?" he asked politely. Harry shook his head.

"I'm just looking for the moment," he replied, doing just that.

There were several counters, protecting the wares encased within through a variety of high-level protection spells woven into the glass. Some, Salazar's voice in his mind told him, were standard Ministry regulations for any shops that dealt in weapons, while others were the store's own. Salazar had accompanied him, hidden from sight. He wasn't about to miss the purchase of his Apprentice's very own swords.

The shop was filled with just that. There were a variety of harmless practice swords, ranging from a blunt tipped foil to a set of sabres. Harry recognised these from the brief memories of advertisements in the local gym. There had been people in strange white net masks and cloths in the photographs. Bypassing these, he saw a set of wooden practice blades, ranging in style and weight. There were similar companions in metal, spelled not to cut human flesh. Although Harry would inevitably need at least one of the practice blades, he passed them by. To his magical senses they were dead but for the spells preventing harm.

The next set of swords were more standard Wizarding fencing foils, but these were of a higher calibre. There were a few that remained blunt, but the majority had an edge to them, gradually progressing from crude designs to far more elegant ones.

Next came various magical blades, infused with simple spells to enhance their sharpness and speed. Harry made sure to examine and make note of the peculiar twist of magic within the blades. It was similar to the Spell Fastenings that Salazar had shown him, but of far less subtlety.

On the other side of the wall were rapiers, followed by a wide variety of short swords, double-edged ones, single handed, two handed, and long swords. Harry would have been completely lost at sea on his own, but Salazar's steady stream of information helped him to understand their place in the Wizarding world. Some of them were fairly out of date, used mainly for show rather than for actual use, such as many of the broadswords, long swords and two handed blades. Others were more common and in greater use still, such as the rapier, foil, epee, and sabre.

However, the real masterpieces were contained within the protective cases. Harry moved over to them, slowly, admittedly saving the best for last. He had felt the magical pull of the blades ever since entering the store, and he wasn't disappointed. He could immediately see what Salazar meant about their magic. It had become an integral part of the metal in a way that Spell Fastening couldn't hope to achieve. The sword couldn't possibly exist without the magic, nor the magic without the sword.

Most of those available had rather showy magic within them, obviously still intended for high-class prizes rather than use. Others however, had a general variety of spells interwoven that obviously hinted that they were to be used in combat situations.

_There remains a tradition of varying levels of combat in traditional families, _Salazar informed him. _They progress from simple practice duels to those of the highest class – these swords and your opponent's life._

Harry nodded vaguely, still entranced. The designs on the blades were overly flamboyant, with too many gems and swirls on them for his taste, but the magic in them had him enthralled.

_These showy playthings are not for you,_ Salazar chastised as Harry began to wonder about their purchase. _You will have your sword crafted to suit you and only you. Ideally you would craft your own sword, but metal magic has evolved from my time, and it is no longer possible in the way it was._

_So, where do I get someone to who does Sword Craft?_ Harry replied, looking around the shop. There didn't appear to be anything indicating that the place would cater for such a thing.

_Not here. You are in one of the general stores. Sword Crafters are far more exclusive,_ the Founder replied disdainfully.

Casting a last look around, he left the shop with a nod of thanks to the attendant. He visited several more of these 'general stores', having a look at their ranges. A few of them delved into ornamental daggers and the like, but Salazar explained that daggers were seen as crude, and the weapons of subterfuge rather than the honourable idea of the sword to which the rich aspired. To obtain the kinds of daggers he wanted, he would have to look elsewhere.

Finally, Harry directed his attention away from the main avenue and into the smaller streets. Sword Crafters, although more precise and skilful, were not a popular group of craftsmen. Harry guessed that some of them probably ran the larger stores on the main avenue and held smaller properties away from the hustle and bustle. It would mean that those who really wanted their skills would have to seek them out.

As it was, Harry found only one such place, and Salazar assured him that it was far from satisfactory. After nearly an hour of searching, he was beginning to become a little irritated. The streets were beginning to fill with witches and wizards going about their daily business, and eventually Harry decided to ask for directions.

Catching sight of a likely looking young man, he met his eye and made his way towards him.

"Excuse me for the bother sir," Harry began, "but I was wondering if you knew if there was a Sword Crafter around here."

The man gave him a slightly surprised look, and paused thoughtfully. "I suppose you could try Tatchers, but he doesn't have such a brilliant reputation."

Harry shook his head negatively. "I've already visited him."

The man hummed pensively. "There used to be a Sword Crafter here about six months ago near the old fountain, off Pendant Road, but he packed up and left. There isn't much business for them anymore," he said dubiously, looking at Harry with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

"Can you remember the name?" Harry asked patiently. The man frowned.

"I can't, but Isabelle in the jewellers opposite might be able to help you," he said. "Head down there, and turn left at the fifth junction. Carry on, and you can't miss it. The old fountain," he repeated.

Harry thanked him for his head and continued in the direction indicated, ignoring the inquisitive stare sent after him. As he went, the houses seemed to gradually evolve from the rather overdone elegance and grandeur of the main avenue, and into more normal households. They still bore the similar pale tones of the area, but they seemed to become more _real_, as if people actually lived there rather than simply putting on a front.

Before him a small courtyard emerged, an aged and somewhat neglected fountain in the middle that had obviously broken some years ago and never been fixed. There was a trail down the side of it where water had once run, and it had moss and dirt on it.

Looking around, Harry spotted the jewellers ('Moon Walkers') and curiously looked for the shop opposite. It seemed as if it had simply been left and never returned to or rented out to anyone else. Harry shook his head at the slightly mysterious quality this whole venture was taking on.

With a shrug, he entered the jewellers, a neat but slightly shabby place that didn't have the same intimidating aura of wealth that the other shops he had visited did. A bell rang as he entered, only this time there was really a bell over the door rather than a simple charm to mimic the sound. A plump, grey-haired woman was sitting behind the counter, and she looked up at the sound of the door with a smile.

"Good morning dear, what can I do for you?" she asked.

"Good morning," Harry replied, stepping up to the counter. "I heard that you might know what had happened to the Sword Crafter who had lived across the way."

"Ah yes, Durand. Came over from the States to set up business here," she said in a fond tone. "Asher had a good trade for the first few years, but after the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the demand for sword craft dropped."

"So he moved away," Harry observed. Isabelle smiled sadly.

"His business was failing, but when his wife died he decided that it was time for him to pack up," she said.

Harry sighed. He had a feeling that this was going to prove harder than it should be. "Can you recommend another Sword Crafter perhaps?" he said hopefully.

"'Fraid not," she replied with a shake of her head. "There's Tatchers, but he doesn't run a decent business like he should. Sloppy quality, those things. Even I can tell, and I don't deal in metal. Durand was the best of a dying breed. You'll find others around, but they won't be of the same class."

"Do you know if he still does commissions?" Harry asked, hopeful. Isabelle shook her head.

"As far as I know he doesn't often, but he does make exceptions. We keep in touch, and he comes to visit me occasionally for dinner. I'd be happy to ask him if he's interested…?" she trailed off, and Harry nodded enthusiastically.

"That would be very kind of you ma'am," he said politely. "I think I'd be able to present him with a challenge."

She chortled a little at that, and her eyes lit up with a smile. "Yes, Asher always did like a challenge. Well, I'll see what I can do. Do you want to tell me your name so I can owl you if he's interested?"

Harry had a split second of hesitation, where he panicked. He didn't know how owls worked at all, whether their magic was to do with the name or the image of the person. It must have shown on his face, because she continued on.

"Or you could simply join us and ask him yourself," she said with a slight smile.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, relieved. "I'd like that. It's Tom Grey, by the way. My name, that is," he said, a little flustered.

Isabelle showed none of the suspicion that Borgin had at his name, and Harry guessed that she wasn't a pureblood. "Well Tom, he's visiting next Thursday evening, and I don't see why you can't arrive a bit before. He should be getting here at about six."

Harry let a genuine smile cross his face. "Thank you ma'am. You've been a real help."

"Don't you mind child. I'm helping out a friend, really," she told him. Harry inclined his head.

"Well, you have my thanks anyway. I'll see you then…?" he trailed off, prompting for her name.

She smiled. "Isabelle Walker," she replied.

"I'll see you then Isabelle," he finished. "Good day."

"You too Tom," she called after him as he left.

---

The staff room filled slowly, various teachers scattered around, drinking coffee and babbling about the recent events in the school. The staff meeting had been an impromptu decision following the dramatic influx of power that had put half of the castle's population into unconsciousness, and left the other half reeling in a daze, unable to function.

Albus Dumbledore sat in his favourite chintz armchair, waiting as the last of his staff trickled into the spacious room. He could already sense that winning the staff over wouldn't be easy; emotions were running high, and the snatches of thought that broke into his mind were…vehement in their outrage. He hadn't been able to decide exactly how much to tell them beforehand, but the decades of practice would come in handy today. He needed to divulge just enough to satisfy them, and he was a master at the art. Half-truths had long been his speciality.

Filch was the last person to totter in, followed faithfully by his cat. Albus was still sure that the creature wasn't entirely normal, but he'd never got close enough to it to discover why. He suspected that it was part-Kneazel, but it didn't particularly show any of the traits he had come to associate with Kneazels.

Ah well, he mused, a mystery will keep me entertained.

"My friends," he said quietly, standing. It had taken him decades to be able to use his voice to silence an entire room without shouting, but it was a skill that had lasted. "You are all here, no doubt, to hear of the magical surge that centred around Hogwarts. Let me first assure you that it bears no danger to us and, in fact, has given much needed power to the wards. I have no fears that they will remain standing as they always have."

He paused to gauge the reactions of the staff, whose expressions ranged from satisfied to sceptical.

"Hogwarts, like many other buildings, was constructed over a Foundation Stone. However, unlike other buildings, it provides a reserve of power that the castle is able to draw on in times of need. What we experienced, was the castle reconnecting fully with the Foundation Stone."

"But why Albus?" Minerva asked from beside him. The headmaster turned his gaze to her.

"Because, in times of great danger such protection is needed, and the castle, being mildly sentient, saw fit to raise the protections over the castle substantially," he replied mildly.

"Oh yes, I foresaw great peril in the future," Sybil moaned from beside the Deputy Head, raising a shaking hand to her brow. Albus smiled.

"I have no doubt that you did, my dear."

"Surely not your suggestions about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named again Albus?" Irma Pince asked from the group of teachers, voice stern.

"You may suspend your belief in an eccentric old man," Albus offered gently, "but I will continue to warn you to the best of my abilities."

"But, the amount of power…" Poppy trailed off. "For the magical surge to knock half of the castle unconscious…"

"Ah, it is indeed a worrying thought," Albus said with a smile. "Even more so for our enemies, no doubt. There should be little to worry about Poppy. The castle has stabilised itself, and the power levels have balanced at a higher level of protection. All the waning wards, spells…they have been replenished."

Severus sniffed. "And destroyed any delicate potions ingredients with them."

"I am sure that we can find some way to replace what has been lost," Albus assured him. "Now, are there any other questions you wish to ask?"

---

Harry had been privately rather surprised that he had been extended such a generous offer by Isabelle. It wasn't every day that things played out so nicely, but it appeared that his luck had held. Isabelle certainly seemed a pleasant woman, and Harry felt pleased that he had got such a good response. It seemed that the day wasn't such a total loss at all.

Making his way back towards the main avenue, Harry stopped in on several of the shops that he had browsed before, and purchased several wooden wasters and a magical dummy for practice under Salazar's instruction. That done, he made his way around the other shops, looking curiously at the wares.

There were several delicate glass structures and a lot of jewellery, but there were other places that made windows and other glass constructions of a more practical nature. He passed them by for the moment, instead heading to the stone sectors.

Entering a shop that seemed as if it would have what it was looking for, he began examining stone samples. The sections were primarily divided into non-magical and magical, and then in categories of sedimentary, igneous and metamorphic rocks. Harry drifted past the sedimentary rocks, after all, he didn't need an island built out of sandstone by any means. He needed something strong, durable and most of all, impenetrable. It would only make his job harder if he bought a porous or permeable rock. He briefly considered granite, but a small prompt from Salazar turned him away. Due to granite's formation, magic was difficult to apply, and he'd need a good material for application.

"Can I help you at all?" said a voice from his side, startling him.

"Perhaps," Harry replied doubtfully, turning to see a mousy haired woman watching him with a polished smile. "I need an impervious rock that is very durable and strong, and preferably won't be affected by salt-water."

A flicker of a frown passed across her face as she thought. "You could try slate. It's very durable, but it might have quite the strength you're looking for."

Harry shook his head. "No, something that can be used for building large structures."

"I know some customers recommend magical flint or basalt. Both can be tailored to suit your needs right here in the store," she chirped. She continued to suggest rocks, and Harry unconsciously tuned out her voice for several moments until he became aware of her waiting expectantly.

"Er…what was that last one?" he asked, a little flustered at being caught not paying attention.

"That was obsidian sir," she replied. Harry mulled it over thoughtfully. It certainly looked nice, and as far as he knew it was durable. However, he didn't know much more than that, which was why he was happy to have Salazar intervene.

_Obsidian is a difficult rock to weave spells into, but it holds them as none other can once they are installed, which is one of the reasons that the necklace you are wearing is of obsidian,_ Salazar told him. Harry nodded absently. _It would be a fine choice if you wish the island to last, but it will add unreasonable levels of complexity to the construction._

_I think I would prefer that it lasted, no matter how hard it is to make, _Harry replied.

_Very well, little one, but I will provide no sympathy when you realise your plight,_ Salazar said with a chuckle. Harry returned a mental scowl whilst simultaneously plastering a smile on his face.

"I think obsidian would be perfect," he said. "I still need to work out the exact quantities I'll need, but would it be possible to take an Owling Card for the future?"

The brunette nodded, and led him over to the counter at the back of the store with a "Yes, right this way sir."

She pressed a small oblong of card into his hand with the shop details on it, and Harry broached the subject of prices, looking over the lists provided to understand just what this endeavour was going to cost him. The magical stone was substantially cheaper, but what he needed was the non-magical rock. Despite expecting it, he couldn't help his eyes widening at the estimated price. To fill in the gap that his surprise had made, he decided to inquire about the Stone Crafters.

"Well," the assistant witch said with a helpful smile, "the shop has several Stone Crafters with skills ranging from Apprentice to Master. Our Apprentice level craftsman is quite capable of doing modifications to existing structures, and working with established walls, if that's what you need?" Harry shook his head and she smoothly continued. "If you need more simple housing done, then our level 3 craftsman is fit to lay the foundations and then our Apprentice, or one of the level 2 craftsmen can take over."

Harry shook his head again. Whilst he didn't want to reveal his plans, he still needed to know who he would need to do the work. "What does the Master do?" he asked.

The brunette looked a little daunted. "Master Reed usually only does the hardest construction tasks, and he rarely takes on work these days."

"What can he do?" Harry repeated, and the woman seemed to regain her focus.

"He can lay extensive and complex foundations designed to absorb and hold spells for several millennia, as well as constructing and enchanting the different levels of the building. He specialises in Spell Fastening in rocks, and is the top British master in the subject. He developed Rock Layer and Magic Grafting, which is a revolutionary technique in its field." She paused and looked at him contemplatively. "He hasn't worked on a project in many years. I believe the last work he did was a moderation of the base enchantments on the Malfoy Mansion, and since then he hasn't accepted any work."

Harry nodded, inwardly smiling. He could feel Salazar's curiosity rolling down the link, and in his own head he was absolutely sure that he had found the level of skill that the island would need. Besides, talking to the Master would keep the ghost amused.

"Tell me," he began, "would it be possible to make an appointment to meet him? I know it is most likely a rare and exclusive occurrence, but I can guarantee that the work I need done will present a challenge even to him."

---


	63. Goblins and Sprites

---

Master Reed proved to be very difficult to get hold of. He spent a good half-hour arguing his case with the sales witch, who remained firmly sceptical. Eventually he asked to see her manager, who proved a little more reasonable. However, as Harry couldn't reveal the nature of the project, he still rebuffed him, although rather more politely. Finally, Salazar seemed to grow tired of watching his protégé being brushed off, and took control of the situation. When the manager of the chain was suitably dazzled by his intimate knowledge of Spell Fastening and stone work, he repeated his request.

A little while later, Harry walked out of the shop with the promise that Master Reed would be present to meet him in a month's time. Harry would have an hour exactly to convince the elusive man.

So it was that Harry left Mercury Avenue with a breath of relief. All in all, the day had been rather more taxing than he would have liked. Heading to the Floo, he ran down his mental checklist of tasks. He would need to learn to Apparate soon, something that he would have to devote some time to. He hoped that Snape would be able to teach him at some point, because Apparition hadn't been a discovery of Salazar's time. However, he was also debating turning to Professor Mercury. Of course, he'd have to learn the required skill of Obliviation before he began asking favours from people who thought he was Britain's No.1 criminal at the moment.

Dusting down his robes with a quick run of his magic, Harry looked around the Diagon Alley Floo. People were busily coming and going in flashes of green fire as he watched, various witches and wizards heading out to get lunch.

The street was crowded, but as it was a weekday there were fewer people about. As he watched, a light drizzle began, clouding the better weather that had been present earlier in the day.

His first stop, of course, would be Gringotts. It was also his most nerve-wracking destination. Although Salazar assured him of the impartiality of the goblins concerning human matters, Harry wasn't reassured. Even if Sirius had bought him a Firebolt in his third year, he wasn't about to go flaunting his true identity carelessly.

The pearly white marble of the front appeared dulled in the rain, and Harry stepped through the doors with trepidation. The sheer volume of magic he sensed around the building put him rather on edge.

He was given a surprise when he lined up in the queue for access to his vault. Goblins appeared very strangely to his magical senses. He hadn't really thought of magical creatures before, and the mermen in the lake only appeared as blurs to him that he had never bothered to focus on. However, he was given ample opportunity for such a study as he stood in line.

Goblin magic appeared to be arranged in a contrasting way to that of humans. Where Opa's had been a slippery swirl, the goblin magic was formed by ridge upon ridge of ordered, formulated rows. It was no wonder that they were brilliant mathematicians and businessmen if this was how they were built.

As he moved closer to the goblin who was serving, his scrutiny increased, and the creature appeared to grow more and more agitated. When he reached the front of the line, it wore an expression torn between irritation and worry.

"What?" it snarled. Harry swiftly ceased his close examination, and it relaxed, before tensing up and shooting him a deeply distrustful look.

"I'd like to visit my vaults and speak to my account manager," Harry said calmly, despite how he felt inside. An enraged goblin was a _scary_ goblin.

Grumbling, it slammed its fist down onto a small silver button on the desk before turning back to him. "Tarsmeeth will take you," it growled, curtly directing Harry's attention to the diminutive goblin scurrying his way. Following it, Harry was led off the main floor and into a small waiting room.

"Can I have your name and vault key please," it requested, taking out a piece of parchment and a pen similar to the Muggle variety.

Harry frowned. "Are you required to keep my name and information confidential?" he asked. The goblin looked affronted.

"Gringotts does not involve itself in human affairs any more than is necessary," it snorted. "Name and vault key," it repeated, a little more forcefully this time.

"Harry Potter," Harry said resignedly, handing over the tiny golden key.

The goblin's eyes narrowed and it took the key, looking over it carefully. "Everything seems to be in order," it said a little reluctantly, handing it back. "Grimgore is your account manager. He'll be right with you."

A little while later, Harry found himself sitting in a rather plush office before a gnarled old goblin.

"Mr Potter," he said, looking down a sheaf of papers. "You seem to have wracked up quite the set of charges against you."

Harry's squashed his irritation. "Charges put about by the Daily Prophet," he replied stiffly. "I may have disappeared, but I remained in Hogwarts."

Grimgore raised a brow. "Is that so? Well, it is not my place to pry." He selected a piece of parchment from the bundle and slid it across the desk. "That is the total of your current vaults."

Harry restrained himself from saying 'vaults? Plural?' in an incredulous voice, and instead scanned the paper. There were many numbers, most of them ending in a rather absurd number of 0's. A little shell-shocked, he pushed the paper back. He had, after all, been hoping that he had this sort of amount, and from his research into the Potter family he had speculated that he had more vaults.

That didn't, of course, stop the knowledge hitting him like a freight train.

"Right," he said, licking suddenly dry lips.

"As you are not yet of age, you have access to vault 6 and vault 7 only," Grimgore continued impassively. "However, as you are of age in the Muggle world and your sole surviving family is Muggle, you may apply for a degree of emancipation to increase access to your funds."

"I'd have to go through the Ministry then," Harry murmured.

"Indeed," said Grimgore. "Until your name is cleared, then your application will be rejected unless cross-signed by your Muggle Guardians, at which point the Ministry will be forced to recognise the application and accede to grant you the minimum requirements. Your funds through vaults 7 to 5 would then be accessible."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "How do I get the papers?" he asked.

"Gringotts has a small quantity at hand for minors, although we do not usually recommend them," Grimgore continued emotionlessly. Harry was impressed that so far the goblin utterly lacked any voice inflection that might indicate feeling. The goblin tapped another silver button on the desk and stated his request for them.

_Inquire after your Magical Guardian,_ Salazar murmured in his head.

"Can I ask who my Magical Guardian is?" Harry parroted. Grimgore levelled him with a heavy look.

"We are a bank, Mr Potter, not a Ministry department," the goblin told him flatly. "Your Magical Guardian has very little to do with your accounts and estates."

"But there's no other way I can find out," Harry pointed out. "And you said they have very little to do with my accounts, but that implies that they have _something_ to do with them."

Grimgore's face took on a mildly sour expression, which was the first sign of life in him that Harry had witnessed. Reaching into one of the drawers in his desk, he withdrew a single sheet of paper and slid it across the desk.

Skipping past the paragraphs of technical and formal jargon, Harry read:

'_Until such a time as the Head of House Potter can be found, or Harry James Potter comes of age, his Magical Guardian is one Albus Dumbledore._'

"Dumbledore?" said Harry with a frown.

"Since the majority of your years until you are of age are spent in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore extended his guardianship over you after the deaths of Lily and James Potter. It is a common enough occurrence," Grimgore recited in a passionless drone. Harry swallowed the sadness threatening to emerge.

"Can I move some of my funds to a new vault under a false name?" he asked instead.

Grimgore sighed and removed a blank form from one of the drawers. "Fill in the information you wish to appear, add a drop of blood to the required section, and press your wand tip to the signature."

Harry looked down at the page. There were the normal fields such as name, age, pseudonym, family, and the quantity of money to be transferred into the new account. At the bottom of the parchment were three oblongs, to verify his identity by blood, signature and magic. Harry filled them all in, penning 'Tom Grey' into the 'pseudonym' category. Finally, using his wand to prick the tip of his finger, he tapped it to the parchment and handed it back to the goblin.

"Very good Mr Potter. When signing for this account, you may use the name," he paused to read the parchment, "'Tom Grey' without threat to your identity."

"Thanks," said Harry. "And, um, is there a way I can withdraw money without coming here every time? Like a Muggle credit card or something?"

Grimgore eyed him steadily. "Gringotts controls most Muggle banks and introduced the first credit card. There is, of course, a wizarding equivalent."

A few forms later, Harry was heading out of the bank, a large sum of money in the vault of Tom Grey, a silver-plated Gringotts card in one pocket, and his partial emancipation papers in another. The numbers of people crowding the street had lessened, and those that were out were hurrying around under water-resistant charms.

He had a few stops to make in Diagon Alley before heading into Knockturn Alley to try and procure some of his less legal items. He wasn't concerned about Flourish and Blotts, but he did need some more advanced Potions ingredients in a much larger supply, as it was unfair to keep raiding Salazar and Snape's stores. The sales wizard was rather surprised at the quantities that he was buying, but he quickly overcame that in the face of the profits to be made, and Harry was soon strolling off the main Alley and into the side streets.

The Sprite sisters had been helpful before, and Harry needed some rather more durable clothes. He also needed to try and discover where Auror uniforms and battle gear was sold.

The shop looked just as it had last, although it was visibly empty due to the weather. Harry noticed that there had been changes in stock, and some of the clothes were in lighter colours in preparation for the summer.

Alerted by the bell that rang at his entrance, Helena looked up from the counter and shot him a smile.

"What can I do for you?" she asked as he walked towards her. Harry returned the smile.

"Well, I was wondering if you could tell me about what kind of clothes I'd need if I was going to be in a serious duel," he prompted. Helena looked a little surprised, but her expression changed to one of thoughtfulness.

"Generally I'd recommend dragon hide for protective gear," she said, "but it needs to be professionally spelled, which we're not equipped to do. There are some types that are naturally resistant, but it's the dragon's magic that makes it so tough."

Harry frowned. "Is there anywhere I can get some that's spelled?"

Helena looked at him frankly. "It's pretty restricted actually. Only Aurors have the decent stuff. It's meant to add to their advantage, but of course anyone they're fighting will have illegal supplies."

Harry paused to think. "All right. How about other types of hide or skin?"

Helena shook her head. "No other magical creatures have the same resistance as dragons. I suppose that you could use a lesser material, but it would still lack the spellwork."

Harry bit his lip before speaking. "How about Basilisk skin?" he asked.

Helena's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"Basilisk skin, would that work?" he asked. "Their corpses retain magic for a very long time, which means they don't decay at the same rate as other things."

Helena looked doubtful. "I couldn't say. It might work, but I'd need a sample, and there's no way we'd be able to find any Basilisk parts on the market."

"If I had access to Basilisk hide," Harry began, moving his magic to muffle their conversation, "would you be able to craft it?"

Helena's eyes became very wide, before she seemed to remember herself. "Wait a moment and I'll close up the shop. It's been a slow day anyway."

Ten minutes later, Harry was led through into the back room where there was a comfortable sofa and several empty coffee cups. Helena sent them flying away up a set of stairs and they sat down.

"A drink?" she offered. Harry shook his head. "Right," she said, "if you had access to Basilisk skin then I'm sure we would be able to do work on it, within the law. Basilisk body parts are very illegal, as I'm sure you know, but I don't think that extends to their skin. However, that still leaves us without a spellmaster."

Harry nodded pensively. "How many high level spellmasters are there?" he asked.

"In fabrics and hide?" Helena said with a raised brow. "About three. Adrian Miller currently works for Madame Malkins on very exclusive pieces, Timothy Trudgeon is the head of spellwork for the Auror robes, and Tilly Young has been nabbed by the Knockturn Alley deal. You don't want to get on the wrong side of her, I'll warn you."

Harry mulled this over. "I'd be willing to pay for one of them to work on the pieces, or for one of you or your staff to get the training required. I'd need several protective outfits, so it would be a high profit deal."

Helena looked torn. "Well, Miller and Trudgeon are out. Miller is too arrogant, and Trudgeon is too firmly on the side of law. Don't misunderstand me, you'll be bending a few laws to get the results you seem to want," she said, a little suspicion shining through her expression.

"Bending, not breaking," Harry observed. She nodded with a crooked smile.

"Quite right." She paused, looking a little hesitant. "I know a good deal of spellwork for fabrics, as does Francis, our seamstress, but we both fall short when it comes to battle gear."

Harry regarded her carefully. "I can assure you that none of this will be used for 'evil'. It is however…necessary. If you want to earn a Spell Mastery in clothing then I'll fund it without reservation. The sooner these pieces are done the better, but they won't be truly needed until-" he caught himself and tried to continue on flawlessly, "-for awhile now."

Helena narrowed her eyes warily. "Until what?" she asked.

Harry glanced down at the paper that sat crumpled on the table, open on the crossword. Picking it up, he flipped to the front page where a picture of a burning house and an out of focus photo of himself were plastered. "The news has been rather violent, hasn't it?" he said casually. "In fact, one might say that certain Ministry officials are being targeted almost as if there were a pattern."

Helena's eyes widened once more, and this time it was in fear. "You could say that," she murmured.

Harry levelled her with a stare. "Death Eaters," he said shortly. "Every one of the men promoted into positions as Department Heads or Secretaries or Transport management bears the Dark Mark on their arm." Helena's eyes met his, watching his every move. "That a sixteen year old boy might be able to co-ordinate this 'rebel group' is a fools theory when he doesn't want to accept what is in front of his eyes."

"You-Know-Who," she whispered. Harry snorted.

"No I don't know who. He has a name, you know. In 1938 a half-blood student named Tom Riddle came to Hogwarts. I think you'll find that if you rearrange the letters in 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' you'll get 'I am Lord Voldemort'."

Helena shuddered. "How do you know so much?" she asked.

"I'm fighting him. I _have_ to know so much," Harry said. "Now, what's your decision?"

Helena took a deep breath before nodding. "I'll learn. Tilly Young would be your only bet, and she's too corrupt to not do you some disservice."

"But...?" Harry prompted, seeing the doubt in her expression.

"I'd prefer if you took a vow," she said quietly. Harry smiled.

"I vow that I will not be using the protective clothing we plan to make for anything other than what I perceive as good. That bars unnecessary thievery or murder, rape, or other heinous crimes," he said out loud, feeling a slight tingle around him as his magic verified the claim.

Helena nodded, looking a little more confident. "Right. I'll apply tomorrow. The courses start in a few weeks, and it shouldn't take too long until I can do the base enchantments on the pieces."

Harry nodded with a genuine smile. "When should I bring the hide round?" he asked.

Helena frowned. "Well, we can start with a prototype for you. With this kind of material I think we'll have to fit it to your size before we begin the spellwork. I can make the basic cuts after the first few weeks of training. Perhaps you could bring round some samples before then?" she asked.

"That should work. How about I bring them to you sometime on Friday?" Harry suggested. Helena smiled.

"That'd be perfect." She paused and then laughed. "This is too good to be true, it really is."

Harry pinched her. "You're not dreaming," he said with a chuckle. "Now, what forms should I be filling in to pay for the course?"

Half an hour later, Harry had filled in the various pieces of paper, charging all expenses to Tom Grey, and was sitting and chatting amicably with Helena. He was surprised to find that she had a refreshing wit and a keen mind. He also got the impression that he had witnessed a rare loss of control. Throughout their conversations as she remembered herself and forgot her earlier fear, she kept a firm hand on the exchange, meaning that she was always in a better position of power than her companion. He guessed it was a by-product of working in the shop, where she had to maintain a calm and control.

Harry focused on steering the conversation away from him, especially as she'd shot him a sharp look when she noticed his name. She seemed to notice his game however, and he found himself batting their conversational subjects back and forth, each trying to make the other person speak without giving much away themselves.

"Ah, no. The Sprite family is pretty small," she told him.

"Really?" Harry continued, pressing his advantage. "Where do you come from?"

"Here and there," she said with a laugh. "What brings you to Diagon Alley? Last I heard, the Grey family had been lost to Scandinavia a few centuries ago."

"This and that," Harry mimicked, with a grin. "You already know why I'm here."

Helena shot him a wry grin. "I know _one_ of the reasons you're here. Don't play that game Tom, I can see right through you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, you got me," he said sardonically. "I came to Diagon Alley to get Potions ingredients and visit Gringotts."

Helena snorted. "Not likely. You've got a mystery about you, and I'm sure you're not just doing things like regular people do."

"Well, before I came into your shop I was doing the rounds whilst standing on my hands," Harry deadpanned. "Mysterious and strange enough for you?"

"As if," she chuckled. "Why my shop?"

Harry shrugged. "It looked nice. Nicer than Madame Malkins by far. _And_ it's run by a woman who has a sense of humour," he said with a wink.

Helena laughed. "Malkin _is_ rather uptight when it comes to anything other than sales. But, you've got to hand it to her; she's been running a tight ship for almost forty years."

"So have the Ollivanders for centuries," said Harry dismissively. "How did you and your sister come to set up in robe shops?"

Helena shrugged carelessly. "You just fall into things, I suppose. Mum always made clothes herself, and we just thought we'd make a business out of it."

Harry nodded appreciatively. "Smart move."

"Where do you work?" she asked him.

Harry chuckled. "A failure of the family was to leave me untold riches behind. It came as quite a shock when I found out, I can tell you. Currently I'm travelling around, looking for something that interests me."

"Or at least that's your day job," Helena smirked.

Harry shook his head. "You're incorrigible. I get the feeling you don't always stay on the right side of the law yourself," he observed. Helena chuckled.

"No, I stay on the right side of the law. I'm careful like that. Bend the rules, but don't break them. I have a business to maintain after all," she said with a shake of her head though. "Everyone's careful around here, although…Messrs. Weasley and Weasley need to be more careful. I may not be on the main street, but even I can see that they've been a little careless."

Harry frowned. "They haven't done anything serious have they?"

Helena raised a brow at him. "Why should I tell you, oh Auror-in-disguise?"

"What? I'm not…eww," he spluttered, pulling a face. "Of all the things I could be, you guess I'm an Auror."

Helena laughed. "What are you then? Undercover spy? Disguised Ministry official? Or just plain hero?"

Harry groaned, putting his head in his hands.

"Well, you did come in with some fantastical opportunity as if you'd stepped out of a fairytale…" Helena trailed off contemplatively. "Well, Mr Mysterious Hero, I'll figure you out one day."

Harry shook his head with a smile. "You've distracted me, haven't you? What have Fred and George done this time?"

Helena raised a brow. "You know those two?" she asked. Harry grinned.

"Better than most, at any rate. They're friends," he told her. He looked at his pocket watch thoughtfully. "In fact, I'll be going to see them next."

Helena smirked. "Then tell them to lay off the blood."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "They really have been dabbling on the wrong side of the law, haven't they?"

"I'm not saying anything more than I already have. Store policy," she said with a wink. "I'll be seeing you on Friday then Mr Hero?"

Harry grimaced at the name. No matter what face he wore, people always came to the same conclusion. "Only if you stop using that ridiculous name."

Helena chuckled and blew him a kiss. "Carry on rescuing fair maidens and you'll be certifiable for a proper title."

"Fair maidens, huh," Harry grumbled as he opened the door onto the street.

"Later Mr Hero," Helena called after him with a laugh.

Harry shot her a half-hearted sneer and waved goodbye. Next stop: the Twin's place.

---


	64. Diagon Alley

---

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes wasn't exactly packed, but it drew wizarding folk from the main alley like flies to honey. Harry narrowly dodged the spatter of pink goo that flew at him when he opened the door, and edged in around the various children who seemed intent on upsetting his balance. A hysterical looking mother ran past him chasing after her child, who was rapidly becoming more and more blue. Catching a flash of red in the mess, Harry made his way down the isle towards the counter.

Fred and George were gesturing enthusiastically at a dark haired man who was listening with a contemplative expression. As he drew closer, Harry caught pieces of their conversation.

"-of the market!"

"Guaranteed to fool all but the best!"

"And that's us," they finished in chorus. The man chuckled.

"Confident are we?" he asked. "How can you be sure they'll work?"

The twins looked affronted. "How could you say such a thing?"

"You should know that we test each product-"

"-to the highest degree. We only sell-"

"-the best," they finished together.

"We shall see," the dark haired man said evasively. "Forward the order to my office."

The twins saluted him with two identical grins. "Pleasure doing business with you my good man," Fred smirked.

"Always the best customer," George continued with what he obviously thought was a winning smile.

The man shook his head and bade them a casual goodbye before drifting back into the crowds. Turning, one of them spotted Harry and tapped the other's shoulder, staring at him with a frown.

"Gred, Forge," he greeted them blandly. Their eyes widened comically and they broke into smiles once more.

"_That's_ why you were so hard to pin down," Fred chuckled. "Nice look."

Harry raised his brows. "How did you know it was me?"

"You do this thing when you meet people," said the one labelled 'Fred'.

"Nervous tick really," the other added in.

"But you twitch your mouth, like this," he mimed.

"I do?" Harry mumbled, embarrassed.

"Yep," the one labelled 'George' told him. "Especially when you meet people you know. When you meet everyone else…"

"-you just go kind of blank-faced," they finished. Harry pulled a face.

"Come on James, we'll talk to you in the back," George said smoothly, beckoning him over whilst Fred instructed the sales wizard to cover for them. Passing through the back room where a number of rather shady looking witches and wizards were waiting, they headed up the stairs past the door with the garish 'Private' written on it.

"We updated security recently," Fred told him, indicating the door.

"With our success we can afford better wards-"

"-more staff-"

"-time off-"

"-not to mention extended weekends," they finished.

"Time to experiment?" Harry guessed.

"Of course," George said, flopping into a large, lime green dragonhide sofa that made Harry wince.

"You wouldn't believe some of the things we've managed," Fred said idly.

Harry raised his brows. "I've heard. Really, Blood Magic?" he asked. The twins looked a little guilty.

"Well you see,"

"-if you want to change someone's characteristics,"

"-then you need a piece of the donor,"

"-and if you're making something as small as the sweets,"

"-then it has to be a strong piece of them."

Harry winced. "Find something else. I don't want to have to fund your release from Azkaban too."

"Harry, Harry,"

"-you know we'd never be caught,"

"-but!" George cut in, seeing his expression darken. "Since you're so concerned, ickle Harrikins,"

"We'll find something else," Fred finished. "Now, to what do we owe the pleasure of your all almighty and infamous company?"

Harry chuckled and sat down. "Well, trust me when I tell you I have a lot to tell you, and even more to show you." Met with twin expectant stares, he moved his magic to keep their conversation private and continued. "I might have disappeared these past few months, but I never even left Hogwarts."

Their eyes widened and they broke out into grins. "We always knew you had it in you."

"That's our Harry. Turning into a real prankster," the other finished. Harry waved it off.

"The Marauders know nothing about the school compared to what I do now," he smirked. "So," he said, leaning forwards to meet their eyes, "I expect you to swear on your honour as both pranksters and Weasleys, by your mother's wrath, that you won't tell a soul. All right?"

They looked at him blankly before turning to each other. "Ickle Harry's going all serious on us."

"Indeed, oh brother of mine. Very serious indeed," Fred finished. "All right Harry," they said in chorus, "We swear on our honour as pranksters and Weasleys, with the threat of our dear mother's wrath, that we won't tell a soul."

"Not a ghost," George added.

"Or a mouse," Fred finished. "Done?" they chorused.

Harry restrained a smile. "Oh, there is one more thing…" he trailed off, feigning forgetfulness. "You see, you'll have to learn Occlumency too."

The twins settled into matching scowls. "You don't ask for much do you?"

"If you want to be kept out of the loop and have your minds raped on a regular basis, then be my guest," Harry told them with a half-smile.

"You drive a hard bargain, ickle Harrikins," Fred grimaced. "But when you put it like that-"

"-perhaps we might be a little more amenable to the proposition," George finished.

"So what do we do?" they chorused.

Harry paused thoughtfully. "This could take some time. It _will_ take some time," he corrected. "I have more to do today, but I'll get Dobby to purchase some books on the subject and pop over to give them to you."

"The crazy house elf?" Fred asked.

"The one with the hats?" George added. Harry grinned.

"The one and only. He's now my employee, so be nice," he warned them. "How about I drop in at closing time in…oh, the next few days or so and help you with the subject."

Fred looked a little sceptical. "How do we know it's worth it?"

Harry smiled secretively. "Oh, this is worth it. You'll be in heaven my friends. It's the find of the millennia. Even if it wasn't, at least Snape won't be able to see into your minds," he added.

Twin looks of disgust crossed their faces. "That's how he always did it," one muttered.

"Very well, Harry m'lad," George told him, "come back and tell us your words of wisdom."

"Once you've learnt Occlumency, I was wondering if you'd do me a favour," said Harry quietly.

The twins sat back, arms crossed. "It depends what kind," they said.

"Wouldn't want to have to assault someone," Fred told his twin.

"And I hope it's not sexual favours," George continued seriously, casting a glance at Harry, who was spluttering and gagging rather dramatically.

"No thank you," he choked out. "This would put your extensive skills in the art of construction to work."

"Oh?" Fred prompted.

"Weapons," Harry told them sombrely. "I need you to make weapons."

Their eyes widened and their faces dropped all humour. "Harry. We're pranksters," George said quietly.

"You can't expect us to design things to kill," Fred finished.

Harry suppressed a sneer. "Voldemort's not going to die from laughter, and his Death Eaters certainly aren't going to be stopped by Canary Creams."

The two redheads looked deeply uncomfortable. Harry watched them with a mixture of anxiety and irritation. He wouldn't ask if it weren't necessary, but he _needed_ some kind of advantage. If they had something like the Magical equivalent of guns on their side, then they'd have a decided foot up against the enemy, and he knew they'd need it. The Death Eaters were trained to kill, and the so-called 'Light Side' was made up of children and out of practice adults. He might have mind numbing power, but his friends didn't.

"I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't a real need," Harry told them. They sighed.

"We know Harry, but it's a lot to ask," Fred said slowly.

"You're right, though," George added with reluctance.

"-thinking about it, that is," Fred continued. "Mum and Dad are trained-"

"-but Ginny and Ron aren't," said George.

"Look," Harry told them, "I'd do it myself, but I don't have the time or the know-how," he said, tapping his temples. "I know you're in the business for humour, but no one else would be able to make the things you could. Can," he corrected himself. "It's an advantage over Voldemort, and you can bet the bastard is doing exactly the same thing as we are, only he'll have top-notch developers with years of experience in weaponry."

Fred frowned. "They never did say what he used in the first war."

George shot his twin a slight smile. "Necessity is the mother of invention, hmm?" They shared a long look, and despite having his magical senses, Harry couldn't catch a fragment of whatever silent conversation they were having. Finally, they turned to him and nodded.

"We'll do it Harry," George told him.

"But we need plans," said Fred, gesticulating thoughtfully. "Something basic to work from-"

"-until we get the hang of it," George finished.

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I wouldn't be able to do it without you two."

They smiled genuinely this time. "We're glad to be of assistance. Anything for our generous benefactor."

"The plans are on my 'to-do' list," Harry said. "I'll get them to you when I drop in next week. And…well, as soon as I can I'll try and work on upping the warding on your homes and getting you somewhere safe to do the work. Your place here is nice," he swept a glance around the room, "but it isn't safe."

He expected the twins to try and brush off his worry, but instead they looked rather relieved. He didn't blame them. What they were going to do was not only highly illegal, but would set them right at the top of Voldemort's target list.

"In the meantime," Fred broke into his thoughts, looking at his watch with a nervous expression.

"-back to the store."

"It's not that we wouldn't spend more time with you," Fred assured him, pushing him towards the door, "but duty calls and all that."

"Truly lovely company," George called down the stairs, shutting the door behind them.

"The best!" Fred chimed in.

"But as you understand, there are meetings," George told him a little guiltily. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"What have you done now?" he asked curiously. Fred shifted uncomfortably.

"Well you see," he said.

"It's like this," the other continued.

"We might be dabbling in this and that-"

"-and toeing the line of the law a bit-"

"-but some things just can't be achieved otherwise-"

"-and we have a limited time offer on this one-"

"-or we really would invite you over for dinner and all that nonsense," Fred finished.

"I won't ask," he muttered as he emerged back into the brightness of the shop.

"Oh, trust me, James my boy, you don't want to," George told him, throwing an arm over his shoulders.

Harry mock-scowled at him. "My name is Tom, George. I don't know where you get these ridiculous nick-names from," he grumbled.

"From under our hats Tom," said Fred jovially. Harry raised a brow and he winked. "We do know some Muggle magic after all."

Harry snorted, impressed at their sudden switch back to their normal genial selves. "I'll drop in, in a few days." They nodded and sent him waves and goodbyes as he left, attracting the attention of several people.

When he'd finally managed to worm his way back through the crowd and into the open, he breathed a sigh of relief. The store was just too full for him to be able to breathe properly. As much as he might like the twins, he didn't always appreciate the fact that they decorated their home and store with all manner of unpleasant tricks.

Ducking away from the main alley, he stepped into one of the side streets just outside the passageway towards Knockturn Alley. For his next destination, he would have to look a little less trustworthy and a little more dangerous. Then again, he mused as he applied the Chameleon skin, appearances can be deceiving. It occurred to him with a sudden unpleasant jolt as he began to change his features, that if he changed his face, then he might not be able to recall the correct visage to present when he returned to the various people he'd met today. Frowning, he reversed the changes as best he could, threw off the Chameleon skin once more and stepped out into the open. What he really needed was…

"Excuse me sir," he called out to the elderly wizard passing by, "could you tell me where I might be able to procure a camera?"

---

The Photographics shop was a tall, thin building tucked in-between Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour and a small shop that offered 'fantastically low priced deals for any charm work needed!'

Stepping through the door, Harry looked around in wonder. Every available space was filled with camera models; the glass topped counter was brimming with different lenses, effects, shades and holders. There were cameras designed particularly for birdwatchers, others for families, nature enthusiasts, handlers or dangerous beasts. On a dull golden stand sat the limited edition 'Dragon-Proof' model, and to its side sat the 'Soul-Snatcher' – 'so lifelike you'll hardly believe it!' and on the ceiling hung various photographic antiquities.

It was Colin Creevey's heaven.

Towards the back of the shop an exuberant old lady was explaining the benefits of using their new twister zoom rather than the older model to a glassy-eyed couple. Harry waited politely at the side for them to finish, and when they'd dazedly purchased several for themselves and all nearby family members he decided to approach.

"Hello young sir, what are you looking for today?" the woman asked. Harry frowned. There was something a little strange about her.

"I was looking for a simple, easy to use camera," Harry said slowly.

A little while later, he was standing outside the store, camera in one hand, a variety of lenses stacked on top and the 'Soul-Snatcher' in a box in his pocket, a bemused expression painted on his face. Brow creased, he turned back to the shop, expanding his magical senses within. He'd been rather guarded about using them extensively so far, as even Mercury Avenue had been a flurry of shapes, sounds and sights in his magical vision.

Still, there was definitely something suspicious about the way the last few minutes were hazy. He most certainly hadn't meant to buy all of this. However, upon inspection the shop appeared perfectly normal. Still a little confused, he shrugged and turned into one of the side streets once more. It was certainly not terrible that he'd bought them after all. They wouldn't go to waste.

Tucking everything but the simple 'Bug' camera ('Great for children and inexperienced photographers!), he snapped a quick shot of himself, watching in satisfaction as the picture emerged from the side. At least he'd had the presence of mind to get an instant developer. Shrugging the Chameleon skin back over himself, he looked curiously at the picture. It had only the barest movements, and the lady in the shop had told him that unless he soaked the film that was all he'd get. Since the Bug instantly developed the film, there was little chance of that happening, but it suited his needs perfectly.

The Bug camera found its way into one of his pockets, and he conjured himself a mirror, which he promptly concealed from view. Magically hanging the photograph in the air beside it, he began to change his features.

His lips became a little less full, with a slight downward curve that leant him an irritated expression. His hair he lightened yet further, making it a dusty grey. His eyes he changed to a much darker grey, which would adequately disguise any contractions or dilations of the pupils. Overall, he removed the slightly chubby look from his body and made himself appear leaner and more muscular. With his face thinner and colouring changed, he looked a great deal different to what he had before.

Pleased with the results, he snapped another picture of himself and broadened the concealed area around him. Fishing his trunk out of one pocket, he enlarged it and let it fall to the ground with a thump. The plain outer cloak came off for one of the Dream Cloaks, and his shirt and trousers changed from light russet brown to greys and silvers. He'd noticed over time that monotone colours were the least memorable. In some ways, being dressed in washed out over-large clothes of Dudley's hadn't been a bad thing. At least he'd blended in to the background.

This time, he didn't forget to wear gloves.

A moment later, a dark hooded figure stepped out of the alleyway. Heading through the back streets towards Knockturn Alley, he attracted few stares. He had noticed on his last visit that in the areas neared Diagon Alley there had been many people without hoods, casually browsing the more 'public' sector of the Alley. However, when he and Ginny had made their way further and further down the road, those about without disguised features had decreased in number.

He and Ginny had really barely scraped the surface of Knockturn Alley if Salazar was correct. The Founder had gone into greater detail about the Twin Alleys construction, and Harry had learnt that even in his day the place had extended longer than a single road. People had flocked to the communal areas, where Dark and Light magics could be found so conveniently close. That had been the entire premise of the area, although after Duke Knockturn's fall Diagon had organised a treaty that restricted the selling of much of the wares. Salazar had explained that they had moved underground. Literally. Harry had a feeling that the underground had expanded much more than its visible counterpart over the years.

However, he would bet a good few galleons that he wouldn't end up even catching a glimpse of the underground today. That was why he was currently restricting himself to browsing. He needed to get a good feel for the area first, sound out the places where he could pick up information and other substances, and become known as one of those who frequented the place. No one was going to trust him with knowledge of that kind of importance if he didn't prove he was trustworthy. Or at least not liable to tell the location of the underground to the law. It wouldn't hurt to become familiar with the Alley, especially if his enemies were fond of visiting.

He strolled casually down the street, idly eyeing the wares of the street-sellers. This time round, human toenails were a lot more interesting. Well, other items of the same genre. Human toenails were practically worthless, as Salazar informed him. They weren't even enough to track down the person who they belonged to, let alone use in any rituals. Human fingers however, were a different matter.

"Are ya buyin' then?" the grimy, bearded man spat. Harry watched him silently as he sounded out the wares with his magical senses. Not only was there not a drop of innate magic in them, but they had some rather nasty elements mixed in.

"Muggle fingers?" he asked disdainfully. "If they were magical, then perhaps."

The man cursed him under his breath as he shuffled away, and Harry continued on. He stopped at a woman who purported to be selling human teeth with interest.

"Human teeth?" he asked, tapping one with a gloved finger. "How much?"

"Yesh shir, 3 sickles each," the woman replied, and when she smiled Harry realised that she had no teeth of her own. That disturbed him more than he would have liked.

_They are not human teeth,_ Salazar murmured lazily. _Not even Muggle teeth._

Harry huffed in reply. _How am I supposed to know the difference?_

Salazar sent back a good deal of disdain for his answer, and Harry realised that the woman was waiting for a decision.

"Have you got any real human teeth?" he asked blandly, watching her eyes widen and then narrow.

"These are real teef," she said, picking one up and pretending to examine it. "Golden findsh these daysh shir."

"Really," Harry said, tapping a foot. "I suppose I shall have to find someone who's truthful to buy from then."

"Wait!" she called out as he turned. Huffing as she walking up to him, she said, "You have a nose for the businessh shir." Fishing in one of her pockets and withdrawing a small pouch. "Real human teef these are."

Harry peered inside the bag, testing them with his senses. There were certainly some real teeth in there, but the rest appeared to be conjured or made of something similar to plastic. Harry felt his lip curl.

"Tip them out," he ordered. The crone looked like she was about to argue, but seemed to think better of it. Up-turning the bag in her palm, she thrust it under his nose.

"'ow many didsh ya want shir?" she asked.

"Let's see," Harry hummed. "That one," he gestured to one of the real ones. "That one, that one," he repeated, as the woman reluctantly pulled out his selections. A few times she deliberately selected the wrong tooth, and Harry was forced to correct her. Finally, Harry asked for several of the fake ones. After a haggle over the price (apparently the price had just gone up for his meddling) Harry tucked them into his pockets.

Harry stopped by several more street-traders to make purchases, and by the end of it they were studiously avoiding him. It appeared that word had gone round that he knew a false deal when he was shown one. Harry didn't think that was necessarily a bad thing.

The first shop he entered was a rather Light-friendly potions store, named 'Flooks and Vines'. The place was filled with neatly arranged vials and sealed bottles.

_Unrefined work,_ came Salazar's sneer in his head. An icy hand grasped his wrist and moved him over to look at a variety of shape-changing potions. He tried his best to look as if he had headed over there naturally._ 'Alpha Metamorphose' is deadly without the correct mixtures and colouring. An unpleasantly poor grade of work._

Harry chuckled inwardly, idly browsing the potions available. He hadn't intended to buy anything from the place, but he dutifully looked over the wares on offer. When he came to the counter, he struck up a casual conversation with the storeowner. Apparently he was new, renting the place because it was cheap. What he was really aiming for was a store in Diagon Alley, but from Salazar's derogatory mental comments, Harry found himself well informed that unless a miracle occurred, the man would be there for the rest of his days. And from the look of it, his Potions capabilities weren't about to improve.

The other shops were equally low grade and uninteresting. To think that he'd found the place fascinating and exciting to visit the last time. With a second look, everything lost the glamour of rebellion and became far shabbier. There were cheap Potions ingredients stores, several run-down bookshops that yielded even less than the second hand ones in Diagon Alley, and a variety of shops that sold odds and ends, mainly worthless junk. It seemed that the only shop of any real value was Borgin and Burkes, but Harry suspected that the owners were running more then a simple shop.

Making his way further from the entrance to Knockturn Alley, Harry watched as the roads became narrower and darker. The stores took on a darker nature too, although they proved to hold nothing more than slightly dubious items. Harry found nothing that would be the owner in jeopardy with the law. He did pick up a rather attractive cursed teapot, which he wrapped up and cast a Stasis spell on. No need to have it ripping holes in his cloak after all.

Finally, he came on what he was looking for. Situated in between two decrepit houses was a small pub, whose sign read 'The Drunken Snurgler'.

---


	65. Knockturn Alley

---

The pub was dingy and loud. Harry's nostrils were assaulted with the scent of stale beer and sweat. If the quality of the floor was any indication, the place was held together with a few supporting charms, and the dirt level maintained with a few hasty and rather slap-shod cleaning charms. All in all, it wasn't exactly the type of establishment he'd been hoping to run into, but Harry guessed that it wouldn't hurt to give it a try.

Dodging a couple of men engaged in a vigorous, slurred shouting match, he made his way to the bar. The barman was a squat, balding wizard with a little too much fat on him to be considered healthy, and a rather nasal voice.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a rude tone.

"What have you got to drink?" Harry questioned, making no move to inject respect or politeness into his tone.

"Beer, Firewhiskey, Cracker's Exploding Shots," he read off. "Or you could try the mystery bottle."

The man gestured towards a large flagon that sat in the shadows on the shelf behind him. Harry raised a brow inquiringly.

"One glass, and if you guess what it is and manage to stay awake whilst saying it, then you get a prize," the man told him, sly enthusiasm lacing his voice.

"The beer please," he said, affecting disinterest. The barman looked a little disappointed, but served him up his drink in a filthy glass. Harry sighed and took it, surreptitiously scouring it with a burst of magic to free his drink from the copious swirls of grease that covered the glass.

Looking around the pub, he headed for a relatively shaded area towards the back of the building where he felt he would be mostly undisturbed. He had drawn a little attention as he'd entered, and although most had turned back to their drinks he was anxious to shake the rest off.

Twisting his magic around his seat, he engineered it to repel the unwanted stares and keep him from being disturbed. Depositing the watery drink on the table, he gently expanded his magical senses to fill the pub. Conversation levels increased, as did the tastes and smells, but he tuned the last two out.

Focusing on the table next to him, he determined that the wizards there were all relatively normal and talking of inane things. Carefully, he brushed the first man's mind and found it completely unresisting. In fact, a lot of what he had taken as muddled, drunken conversation was simply overly loud thoughts. Separating the conversation from the thoughts, he focused purely on the man's mind.

There was a confused sense of identity and a rush of images, but he made his search more precise to counter that. The man had worked in a wizarding factory (did they even _have_ factories, Harry wondered?), but he recently been fired. He lived with his wife and youngest child in the poorer part of the area. Nothing particularly new there. Harry had an idea that he wanted to try out, but he wasn't about to test it on a man with family.

He passed onto the next one, and the next, finding small snippets of interesting facts. It was only on the next table that he got what he was looking for. An old crone who was sipping Firewhiskey by herself had committed a number of unpleasant deeds, including testing an experimental potion on her husband that had had a rather nasty effect on his genitals. He hadn't remained her husband long after, but he'd met a mysterious demise the night that their divorce had come through. Harry winced. That particular memory was really not something he'd wanted to see.

Still, she had what he wanted, and her mind was a little more ordered than those of the dozy drunks on the previous table were. Picking his way through various memories and ideas, he found the chunk he had been looking for. From the minds he had seen so far, similar fragments of memory were grouped together, and the particular one he wanted was knowledge of the area, which the crone had in abundance.

Gathering his concentration, he tugged all the stray pieces of information into one bundle and with a great deal of effort managed to convert it into something that resembled a pint of beer, but without the glass surrounding it. It took a good deal of time to accomplish, and although slow he could feel uneasiness coming from the crone, but it seemed to be something subconscious rather than at the forefront of her mind. Taking this as his chance, Harry downed the flagon of memories.

Distantly, he could feel the woman start in surprise, but he was soon snowed under with the deluge of images and flickers of knowledge. Harry reeled backwards in his chair, suddenly very grateful for the precautions of concealment and silencing magic around him.

Several minutes later, he dragged himself into a sitting position and massaged his head. It hurt both physically and mentally. On the other hand though…he knew far more about Knockturn Alley than he would have ever thought he would. Apparently he hadn't been very selective in taking the memories, and quite a few more had been dragged in too. For that reason he knew where to get the best Potions ingredients, and some unpleasant books on curses. He knew where there was a little witch doctor that would happily remove hexes for a small fee, no questions asked, and he grasped a good deal more about the weave of back streets around the Alley. He knew the fake and real names of a few of Knockturn Alley's inhabitants, and snippets of their trades.

Unfortunately for the crone, when he checked back he found that he hadn't so much as copied the information as stolen it. The woman had no idea where she was, not even the name of Knockturn Alley. Harry shrugged. He guessed she'd learn to live with it.

---

Remus paced the long room as they waited for people to arrive. Albus had remained as tight as a goblin's purse about any information, but Remus could almost smell that it was something big. Something about Harry.

Of course, he couldn't be sure, and he couldn't tell Sirius, or the man wouldn't even have been allowed to remain in the meeting due to the excess of his demands. No, better to keep his hunch to himself, and wait to see it all play out. Of course, it could be the other matter, but something in Albus' poise told him otherwise.

Severus Snape was one of the first to arrive, followed by Alastor Moody. Then came Kingsley, who was always prompt, and Emmeline Vance, and the rest of the Ministry lot. By the time Mundungus Fletcher stumbled through the door, Remus was having a difficult time restraining himself from snarling at them to begin. Sirius was little better, and he had already interrogated Albus. Twice.

The headmaster stood, and Remus felt a soft tingle of magic in the air that drew his attention to the man. He doubted many others noticed, but his…condition…attuned him to these sorts of things. In the beginning he had been rather impressed by such a subtle piece of magic, but now it only served to fuel his irritation. It left him with the sensation of something worming under his skin and made him increasingly unsettled.

"Welcome, my friends, thank you for joining me. I am afraid that we have both good news and bad to impart today," he said quietly. "On Friday evening, Harry Potter visited me in my office."

As could be expected, there was the customary burst of chatter and mundane speculations over the subject. Only Severus didn't seem surprised, but then again, he never did. Sirius was already busy shouting at Albus.

"-didn't you tell us? We were here! We should have been the first to know!"

Remus breathed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for the noise to die down. It was only interrupted when Kingsley's deep voice rang out over the chatter.

"Go on Albus," he prompted, silencing the other conversations as effectively as a charm.

"Yes, of course," the headmaster said, capturing the group's ears once more. "The spell I had put on his owl to alert me to his location was triggered. I visited the Owlery to find nothing amiss, and his owl missing. It is my guess that he managed to disable the spells."

"But how?" one of the people at the back called out. "He's barely through his sixth year!"

Albus shook his head, and Remus bit back another biting remark for him to just get on with it. At times like these he could almost imagine that the man enjoyed milking the most chaos from the group as he could get.

"You all know the circumstances under which he left," he reminded them gravely. "It is my belief that he managed to find a tutor, one who is both powerful and knowledgeable."

"Where Albus?" Arthur asked him practically.

"I am afraid that I am unable to answer that," Dumbledore said. "I also believe that it is in our interests to discover whom. It would make a fool of me to put a restriction on learning, but young Harry is unfortunately easily impressionable, and were he to have become attached to a mentor of less than admirable morals, then the effects may be disastrous for him."

Remus' breath caught a little in his throat. The old man knew exactly which buttons to push with the group, let alone him. For Sirius, the Weasley's and himself, they were already reeled in. The idea of Harry being used roused a snarl in his throat. Werewolves were pack creatures, and they protected pack and family above all else. Remus knew that while he might understand what Albus was doing, but he wouldn't take the chance not to follow the carefully concealed orders.

It infuriated him, as he thought about it, that Albus was saying such things to the Order as a whole. There were people here who didn't need to know anything about Harry other than the fact that he had been seen. In some selfish part of him Remus found himself put out by Albus' indiscretion.

The others, he noticed, were nodding hesitantly. They didn't want to lose their saviour. He repressed a growl. Adults putting such faith in a child set his teeth on edge, especially since said child was someone he cared dearly about.

"The bad news Albus," Sirius spoke up from beside him. "What's the bad news?"

Albus levelled him with a solemn stare. "I am afraid that young Harry is not as trusting as he was Sirius. He reacted most…unfavourably to myself, and I was unable to ascertain more than what I have just told you. He appears to have become most cynical. Such a sudden change may be of little consequence, but we must be cautious nonetheless." There were a few quiet inhalations, and the expressions of the group became serious.

Sirius snorted, but his face was pale. "He's my godson, and that won't change," he insisted.

"Perhaps Black, he has realised the fool you truly are and saw that it proved in his best interests to discard you," Severus' acerbic comment floated over to them. The dark haired main was idly tracing the grain of the table they sat around, not even turning his head towards the escaped convict.

Remus tuned out Sirius' reply with practised ease, examining the implications of Albus' statement more thoroughly than his hot-headed friend might have. Obviously Sirius had caught the suggestion of a change of alliance, but he wasn't currently thinking beyond that. The happy, forgiving boy he had met last had been erased. Remus wasn't unaware, and after spending so much time in the company of people who buried half of their message beneath their words, he could appreciate what others might be missing. He could tell from Albus' tone that this was not merely a schoolboy spat or outburst of rage that was merely his friend's son getting what bothered him off his chest.

A glance at the older man and he met his gaze. There was a lacklustre quality to his eyes, and he nodded to him as if interpreting his thoughts. It wasn't unlikely. As private as he was, he had never managed to get very far with the Mind Arts. His werewolf side tended to let things become known rather than burying them.

So Harry had said and done things that had put a severe weight on the man's mind. He wondered what could have changed him so drastically. Although hesitant and not easily trusting, Harry had a naïve innocence about him. To think that that could have been removed in a scant few months disturbed him. Remus wasn't a creature of change. Adaptability had never been a Gryffindor trait and he was struggling with it, simply in a less obvious way than Sirius.

Sighing, he came out of his thoughts enough to listen to the meeting.

"-is little more I can say on the matter Sirius," Albus said gently, raising a hand to forestall any further protests. "He will undoubtedly come to see you, but you must not be drawn into risky measures. It is quite possible that the other side may also know of his reappearance, and you must remember that there remains an impostor in the world outside."

Sirius seemed to be actively trying to restrain his temper, and gave him a taut nod. Remus considered his friend as the Order turned to other matters, and recognised the signs. Sirius was planning to do something rash, and Remus didn't like it at all.

---

"That was crudely done" Salazar told him as Harry wandered the veritable labyrinth of alleys and streets around Knockturn Alley.

Harry bit his lip. "I haven't had much practice yet," he observed.

"Indeed," Salazar agreed, "but that is no excuse for incompetence. You did not even make an effort to achieve delicacy. The transfer of knowledge was crude and unskilled, and were she even marginally more aware of her mind, she would have felt you."

Harry cast a glance to his side and checked himself as he merely saw clear air. They wandered wrapped in his protective magic, but the ghost chose to remain invisible. "I know, alright? But I got what I wanted for now. I'll find someone to practice on."

"You will," Salazar agreed. "And until that time you will exercise a little more caution. I have not taught you a method of Leglimency that will allow for precision of work if you intent to ignore the capabilities."

Harry resisted both the urges to hang his head or snap back. Salazar was right after all, and he was merely used to going on the defensive rather than accepting his failures. It was a fault that Snape never failed to illuminate.

The pub had given rise to little more that could be of use to him, although he had stolen more precise knowledge of Knockturn from various others. He had tried to target those who had done some wrong, such as the crone had, but it became difficult with the limited selection of drinkers in the place. There were some things that he really wanted, and couldn't get from others in the vicinity. Unfortunately for the regulars of the pub, his departure left several with sizeable gaps in their minds that they found difficult to place.

"I suppose I'm a mental vampire then," he hummed. Salazar laughed beside him.

"In a way," he replied. "I suggest that at some point you expand your knowledge of vampirism, and spend time living among them. They have advanced in ways different from wizards."

"I thought they were sort of…violent towards humans," Harry stated uneasily.

"It depends on your knowledge of them. They are not unresponsive to wizarding contact in any case. However," he continued, "I have not been among them for a millennia. Habits change, whether they are semi-immortals or not."

"I should visit a lot of the magical beings really," Harry mused out loud. "I don't know much about any of them."

"Not many do," Salazar told him. "Communities built around a fear of wizarding kind and a mutual desire for survival are by nature insular. To be rejected by the very world that you formerly belonged to creates a sense of betrayal and terror. Half-breeds will naturally gravitate towards their own"

Harry frowned. "That's pretty much just vampires and werewolves though. Centaurs don't get bitten and become what they are like that," Harry observed.

"Indeed, but many others do. Banshees, for one, mutate from their human state," Salazar informed him. "Others have evolved a sentience alongside humanity. Vampires and werewolves are the result of a mix between two races. Others such as the Dementors or goblins are the result of great magical difference. They may be humanoid, but at some point they diverged from us, and evolved in a different manner."

"Guess Darwin affected the Wizarding world too," Harry mumbled.

"Indeed. Wizardkind was not always as ignorant of Muggle activity as it is now," Salazar said, and Harry felt a slight hint of amusement through the bond.

They walked for some time in silence, wrapped up in thought. Harry mulled over just how much of the wizarding world he had yet to know anything about, and that was just the community in Britain. There would be different strains of magic and culture in other countries, as he knew from speaking to both Salazar and Godric. Salazar had travelled a little, but Godric had left the little island he had been born on and roamed the earth in pursuit of knowledge. Harry envied his freedom.

"I want to travel," he said experimentally.

"Then travel," Salazar pointed out. "I am not averse to seeing how the world has progressed."

"But I have…a responsibility I suppose," Harry murmured.

Salazar laughed. "When you die, so will he. Until such a time as you choose to, there is no reason why you should be restricted to minding him."

Harry felt torn. "But as long as I'm alive, then people will be dying."

"People who believe you are a murderer on rumours circulated by a cheap rag."

"At first," Harry said defensively. "But they saw me, didn't they? I can't really blame them for being fooled."

"Then hand yourself in, clear your name little one," Salazar prompted. Despite his best efforts, Harry's expression betrayed his uncertainty. "Ah." The ghost seemed satisfied to be proved correct. "So you do not trust them after all."

Harry grimaced. "Of course I don't," he muttered. "The Ministry is corrupt. They'd just chuck me in Azkaban without even bothering to check."

"And the public would be yearning for it," Salazar finished. "You strive to protect people who are willing to idolise a babe as their saviour and just as promptly remove him to the cruellest wizarding confinement without trial or evidence. They would make you their public sacrifice, and then wonder why the attacks did not cease."

"They wouldn't try and kill me," Harry said stonily.

"Ah, desperate times call for desperate measures," Salazar said lazily. "If it appeared that you were able to escape your cell, in a similar manner to your godfather, then they would have no choice but to condemn you to some more…permanent fate."

"They wouldn't," Harry repeated, but it sounded weak to his ears.

"Tom, Tom, you present a threat that both the Ministry and the public would have little problem being rid of. With Voldemort's forces in positions of power, you would have little support on your side. Everything is against you if you put yourself in debt to them."

"Trying to make me paranoid Salazar?" he asked humourlessly, but Salazar chuckled. "I won't fall into this 'self-debt', but it doesn't mean I can comfortably leave them at the mercy of Voldemort," Harry said scowling, but he couldn't repress the tinge of doubt in his voice.

Salazar laughed. "I expect nothing less, little one."

They fell into silence again, Harry's emotions roiling mutely, disturbed by Salazar's pronouncement. As much as the Founder embellished fact, there were more than a few grains of truth in his statements. He had proposed the worst that could happen, and Harry knew by now that he had to prepare for the worst.

Suppressing a sigh, he turned off the small alley he had been walking down and emerged on a slightly larger street. Ahead was a rather run-down inn, but it stood out from the surrounding houses, emitting a more welcoming feel. The people in the area might deal in dangerous things, but Knockturn Inn there was a general agreement of peace between the residents. People wanted a place to stay where they wouldn't be murdered in their sleep, and when signing into the Inn, they bound themselves to just that.

Harry stepped into the tall building, feeling the slight tingle of magic around him. He passed the time waiting in line for the bar by examining the wards. There were the general ones for protection, but there were others layered over for peace and calm. Notably, the occupants of the building were all talking amiably.

The room was large, with a low bowed ceiling that seemed to strain under the weight of the floors above. It had a similar shabby quality to the outside, but despite that it was meticulously clean. Not for the first time, Harry thanked the crone for the information she had unwillingly provided him with. The Inn wasn't overly popular with those who came to the Knockturn area for darker purposes, but it was perfect for those in the legal side of the Dark Arts or those who were visiting for cheap room and board. Since Harry needed to acclimatise himself to the place and the some of the practices, he resolved to begin here.

"How can I help you sir?" a middle-aged woman asked him from behind the bar. "Drink? Rooms?"

"Both," Harry said with a slight smile. "A shot of Firewhiskey and a room for two nights."

"Right, that's two galleons, fifty sickles a night" the witch said, scribbling into a large book. "Can you sign here and here," she asked, indicating the spaces.

Harry took the book and quill from her, reading over the customary safety and peace clauses that the Inn was renowned for. He swiftly signed 'Tom Grey', passing tapping his Gringotts card to the parchment and handing the book back to her. She smiled at him and he was soon sitting in reasonably secluded corner sipping a Firewhiskey.

He hadn't had a chance to drink anything more than Butterbeer in his time in Hogsmeade, and with Salazar he had been restricted to more refined beverages. Therefore he was more than pleased to be able to try the renowned Firewhiskey that had been the word on everyone's lips in his year at Hogwarts.

The first sip burnt its way down his throat in an excruciating swell of sensation, but after restraining the urge to cough and splutter, he managed to appreciate the warmth it left behind. He suspected that it would be as good as or better than brandy for those who were lost in the cold. Still, when he looked over the Inn and caught sight of people downing large shots of the stuff, he found himself wincing internally. He didn't think he'd be able to stomach a whole shot without making a fool of himself by spluttering. His eyes were already watering from the sip he'd taken.

_Indulging in common frivolities little one?_ Salazar asked, a trace of humour colouring his tone.

"I happen to enjoy 'common frivolities', thank you very much," Harry replied, erecting his magic around them. Just as in the pub, curious gazes would be averted, and their conversation would be silenced. He still needed to work on silencing charms that only targeted conversation though.

"You will also need to learn sobriety spells," Salazar commented. Harry shot a dirty look in his general direction.

"I'm not about to become a heavy drinker," he replied sullenly, starting as an icy hand ruffled his hair.

"Of course not little one," Salazar replied. "But I know full well that you intend to introduce your friends to the substance, hmm?"

Harry just grunted, unable to think of a retort. A snap of pain lanced through his head and he winced.

"Etiquette, little protégé," Salazar chastened. Harry scowled.

"If I want to grunt for an answer, I will," Harry grumbled.

"And you'll be reminded of your manners each time," Salazar told him in obvious enjoyment.

"Bastard," Harry muttered, and winced again.

"I was of perfectly sound birth Harry. Obviously the alcohol is beginning to affect your creativity," replied Salazar casually.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine, oh master of eloquence. I bow to your superior wit," he said sarcastically.

"Ah, Tom, how touching," Salazar said, amusement rattling through their bond. "Although I must say I am more partial to grovelling."

"Runs in the family, that trait," Harry grumbled, taking a large gulp of his drink.

A moment later, he was proud to note that he had restrained from choking, but his eyes were streaming from the burning sensation as the alcohol worked its way down his throat.

"An upstanding performance of grace and elegance," Salazar observed. Harry shot him a glare, but it was ruined by his watering eyes.

"Bastard," he repeated, blinking the water from his eyes. Salazar chuckled again, and Harry enjoyed the sound, particularly as there was no accompaniment of pain this time. He liked their verbal battles, despite his constant defeats.

Closing his eyes, he leant back in his seat reviewing his new-found knowledge. It was still rather insubstantial, and he knew that he would have to compound the information. Inevitably he would forget bits and pieces, but he would have a strong foundation of memory to build on in future. He had a lot to do in the next few days, but he planned to wander the Knockturn area in order to cement and broaden the stolen knowledge in his mind.

He was pleased with his choice of habitation for the night, as it would let him interact with the locals and visitors. It would be even better if he was to buy a house here, but for the moment he was happy with lodging. Eventually he planned to dot all the major cities with houses owned by him, but that was for the future. He didn't have _that_ much money, and he'd need to make some investments and look into procuring some more. His main venture came first, and the houses would be secondary. Once the island was underway, then he could begin to investigate properties.

Knockturn Inn was owned by Gillian May, the dark haired woman who worked the bar. She was known for her neutrality and silence on anything she overheard in her establishment. Of course, like all good actors, that was what she made common knowledge. In fact, she passed on snippets of information to others, one of which had been the crone that Harry had stolen the memories from. Harry had an inkling that she supplied the majority of her gossip to someone big, but he hadn't managed to pick up that bit of memory from the crone. He doubted that she knew anyway. From what he had seen of her mind, he knew that she wasn't exactly high on the ladder of residents in Knockturn Alley.

There were a few people that he felt might give him a lead to what he wanted, but first he needed to be seen around the area. Nobody would trust a newcomer, and he had to establish himself as trustworthy. In the next few days he planned to visit a few of the lesser-known stores and collect anything more he would need from Diagon Alley and the other Wizarding places. He wanted to visit Dreamwood again and preferably explore the forest, but that could wait until he got settled down. For now, there was simply too much to do.

With a reluctant sigh, he fumbled in his pockets for Snape's Diagram of Dissection and unfolded it on the table.

"Right," he said turning to where he felt Salazar sitting, "how am I supposed to read this?"

---


	66. The Dursleys

---

The room was small, but was as scrupulously clean as the rest of the Inn. A single bed rested in one corner, made up in white sheets. There was a plain wardrobe nearby, and a rickety table under the window. A door to the right led into a tiny, cramped bathroom. It wasn't impressive, but Harry didn't need much more.

Dropping onto the bed, he closed his eyes and expanded his magical senses. The door showed some primitive locking charms that would come into action when he turned the key, and the bed had an old cushioning charm placed on it. Scanning the room more closely, he located several surveillance spells to record and monitor his activity. He stifled them and began to scour the room far more extensively.

Twenty minutes later, he had finished, removing an unpleasant curse from the wardrobe door and a couple more surveillance spells. He blocked the holes in the skirting board that would allow mice through, and set about warding the room to his liking.

He hadn't done thorough reading on wards when he was in Salazar's rooms, but he had managed to grasp the basics. Setting down a general protective base, Harry improvised the spell in order to mask his presence, deflect notice from the room, silence and seal it from most of the senses. It took him some time, but finally he was sure that whatever he did in the room would go unremarked.

At an offhanded prompt from Salazar, he tweaked the surveillance spells to show him doing normal things such as reading the paper and sleeping. This in fact took a great deal more effort than anything before, and when he was still failing in his endeavours forty minutes later he decided to go for a different approach.

Following the thread of magic through the building, he found the surveillance spells in other rooms. Many had been blocked or fooled already, but he soon found what he was looking for. An hour and a half later, he had managed to put together a crude illusion that fed off what the sister spells were recording. His illusory self would be doing similar things to people in rooms 11, 17 and 5.

Pleased with his achievements, he summoned Dobby and instructed him on who to deliver Occlumency textbooks to, and began to unpack.

Since the beginning of school, he had taken his bottomless pockets rather for granted, and hadn't bothered to empty them out properly. That meant that he was rather surprised at the sheer number of sweet wrappers, crumpled pieces of parchment, and miscellaneous books and items. There were potions ingredients, schoolbooks, library books, and various things he had bought on his trips.

He set about organising things into piles. Schoolwork went in one pile, mundane things like sweets and cakes went in another, plain parchment in one, then everything else slowly found its way into others.

Looking through his trunk, he was surprised to see a good few books he had forgotten about, not to mention the snake skeleton he had bought. Materialising in his room, Salazar cast an appraising gaze at this particular possession.

"Skeletons are not difficult to animate," he said blandly. Harry looked up at him.

"That would be interesting," Harry said, considering the idea. "Would I have to use a snake soul like you did?"

Salazar looked at him for a long moment before shaking his head negatively. "That would require a greater grasp of the Soul Arts than you have, although it would produce a greater scope for independent thought. It is a method used to immortalise the creature."

"Then I should just layer magic onto it?" Harry asked, frowning in thought as he tried to remember something. "Didn't you say that bones took to magic better than wood or stone?"

"Indeed," Salazar agreed. "Magic is a living thing, and bones are accustomed to having life in them."

Harry's eyes went wide. "Hey! I could…can you imagine what would happen if I reanimated dinosaurs?" he asked excitedly. The idea of the monstrously huge bones in the Natural History Museum getting up and walking seemed to be stuck on loop in his head. "That would be so cool…" he trailed off dreamily. He'd had something of a fascination with dinosaurs ever since he'd caught a glimpse of them in the museum. Unfortunately, Dudley had proclaimed that he was bored and thrown a tantrum, and Harry had never visited again.

Joyfully, he added the Natural History Museum to his mental 'to do' list.

Coming back to himself, he became aware of Salazar watching him, amusement playing in his eyes. "What?" he demanded.

"Trapped in childhood memories, little one?" the ghost asked, a slight quirk to his lips. Harry shook his head with a smile.

"You're got to admit that it would be worth it," he said.

"Bones carry residual memory of their form," Salazar said casually, seating himself in the chair by the desk. Harry's eyes became very wide.

"So I could, in theory," he added, checking himself, "make dinosaurs come alive again?"

Salazar smirked at him. "It is not impossible, but neither would it be the work of a few months."

Harry waved that away with a flip of his hand. "But it's possible, yeah? That would be…" he trailed off again, misty eyed. Summoning his compilation of ideas, which he had dubbed the 'Book of Plans', he inserted a new page and scribbled down his proposal to reanimate dinosaurs. Snorting, he added a note to visit the skeletons and examine them. 'Reanimating Dinosaurs' sounded ludicrous even in his head.

Snapping the book shut, he placed it back in the breast pocket of his cloak.

"Right...er, where were we?" he asked sheepishly. It wasn't often that he was overcome with childish enthusiasm.

Salazar raised one brow, but there was a glint of humour in his eyes that was reflected in the emotions coming through the bond. "Animating the skeleton, I believe."

"Ah," Harry said. "Right. Well, I'll add it to the Book."

As he finished sorting the piles out and putting them away, he came across the Diagram of Dissection again. He and Salazar had gone over it downstairs, but Harry felt he'd rather missed the fine points. Whether he liked it or not, Snape's first few pieces of Basilisk were going to be shoddily cut.

He was just rolling up the diagram again when a sharp burst of pain ran through his head, seeming to burn everything in its wake. Harry might have been anywhere, because everything faded down to a sharp point, and that point was drilling into his skull, and at the same he could feel a delirious pleasure and happiness welling up inside him, so that the sound that was torn out of his throat was somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

He was on the floor. His head was pounding. Slowly, he moved to sit up, and felt icy hands encircle him, one pressing with a glorious cold against his head, soothing and numbing the pain until he could only feel a memory of the pain.

"He's happy," Harry croaked out.

A soft hiss that was more like a croon came from behind his ear, and he felt himself lifted from the ground, and soon he was in his bed, covers tucked up around him.

'_Salazar?'_ he asked sleepily. '_Do ghosts sleep?'_

'_We become dormant,'_ was his short reply. _'If there is one luxury of life that I miss the most, it is dreams.'_

Harry felt strangely moved by that. He didn't realise what Salazar lacked until he spoke of it. How strange it would be, he thought, not to dream.

'_Good night,'_ he sent back, and settled into bed. There was no reply forthcoming from the ghost, and the glow gradually dimmed until it was little more than the light thrown in by the moon. The rain from the day had apparently cleared the sky, leaving it broad and cloudless.

Harry's eyes gradually drifted shut, and he sank deeper and deeper into sleep.

---

Draco regarded the corpse of the woman before him impassively. He could sense the presence of his father behind him, and the unpleasant sensation of having a large number of eyes fixed on him. Through them all burned Voldemort's gaze and he fancied he could feel it, malignant and unreadable, separate from the others.

The knife in his hand shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip, slippery with blood. The same blood that was pouring from the woman's neck. He wondered what it all meant. What this proved.

A heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Draco could tell that it was Lucius'.

"Well done, my Dragon," said the familiar voice. It was still cold and distant, but it held a hint of pride for his son's achievement. Draco repressed the urge to shrug his shoulder and shake the hand away. The appendage was resting along a deep splash of Living Metal, and it left him feeling unsettled. He wondered if his father knew, and was doing it deliberately.

"Yes, very well done Draco, very well done," another voice said. "Such entertainment." If his father's voice was cold, this one was like ice. It might seem warm and generous on the surface, but Draco could sense the freezing quality beneath it.

He turned and dropped to one knee.

"I live to serve you my Lord," he said blankly.

"So you do Draco," Voldemort agreed. "And I see that you remember that."

The blonde watched as the Dark Lord stood, switching his attention to encompass all of his Death Eaters.

"You are on your way to becoming a very effective killer Draco," the Dark Lord continued to address him, and a ripple of laughter ran around the circle at his words. Draco disliked the way the man repeated his name, as if it were a curiosity for the tongue – a casual amusement. "With but a little more training, you will be perfect."

The Dark Lord stepped gracefully down from the stone throne that he had been lounged across before. "My companions…what a joy to have you together at last, my true family complete for the first time in fourteen years," he said a round of grim smiles. "My faithful…but you see, young Draco here has something you do not. His lack of emotion…ah yes, I had thought it an impracticality before, but are not our weaknesses turned to our strengths?" he smiled chillingly, watching the boy still knelt before him. "Young Draco here is not hindered by bloodlust," he regarded Bellatrix, who giggled despite her gaunt and hollow face. "Nor is he troubled by obsession," he turned to view the Lestrange brothers. "Nor guilt, nor regret," he finished. "The perfect fighter…in cold blood, as they say."

His gaze sharpened, focusing on the Lestrange brothers, and Rookwood standing next to them. "He will be passing to you, and you will dedicate your full attention to his training."

The Dark Lord smiled oddly, and the three men did nothing to suppress their own delight.

"You have your tasks," he said softly. "In the meantime, celebrate your freedom."

There were chuckles, and the circle began to disperse, but a flare on Draco's arm prevented him from moving. As the chamber drained of its previous occupants, Draco listened for hints as to who else had remained. There was a small shift of a shoe that ground against the grit of the floor behind him, and a slight exhalation to his left alerted him to the presence of two others. Other than that, he had no idea as to who else had stayed.

"Draco," the Dark Lord continued. "You are nearing the age of majority, are you not?"

"Yes my Lord," he answered in that same colourless tone.

"And it is customary for you to produce an heir, is it not?" he asked.

"Yes my Lord," he agreed.

"The Malfoys come from a long line of purebloods, spreading their resources and remaining firmly on the Dark Side…openly, when they are able," he paused and chuckled. "Ah yes Lucius, I am aware of your caution. But it is also noticeable, is it not, that the Malfoy line has become progressively narrower? While blood traitors such as the Weasleys produce many offspring, and their progeny are apt to continue their work, the Malfoy line has dwindled by the years."

The Dark Lord paused, and then his voice became sharp. "In times where disputes of the position as heir led to deaths within the family, this was acceptable. But Lucius, you rule with a firm hand, do you not?"

"I do, my Lord," Draco heard his father reply. His hair was hanging in his eyes, and his muscles were beginning to protest at his position.

"And were Narcissa to bring forth another scion, it would be well within your power to restrict these fratricidal tendencies, would it not?"

"Yes my Lord," Lucius replied, a hint a stiffness in his voice that betrayed his anticipation of punishment.

"Ah, Lucius," Voldemort continued smoothly. "I see that you are remembering a particular occasion. Would you care to refresh our memories?"

"Yes my Lord," he agreed woodenly. "Shortly after Tristan Dolohov died, and Antonin replaced him, you expressed a desire that…that your followers produce a greater number of heirs to continue their family's service to you."

"Yes, Lucius, and you, as one of my most faithful…as one of my inner circle, you were one of the first to comply, setting an example for your peers…and of course," he said, and Draco felt those eyes on him again, "of course, young Draco has now come into my service."

Draco heard his father swallow softly, and imagined him agitated, perspiring from the thrum of his nerves.

"No other man's child would be worthy of your position," the Dark Lord continued. "Pureblood rule has come into decline because the power you wield is directly proportional to your numbers. As each generation grows smaller, so does your influence," he said softly.

"Do you wish me to continue the negotiations for marriage with the Parkinsons?" Lucius said, regaining the unruffled quality of voice he had had before. Draco sneered inwardly. This was an area that his father knew all about.

"No."

The reply not only shocked Lucius, but Draco as well. Since he had been a child and he had first met the girl he was meant to marry, he had taken it as a staple of life. Things seemed to be shifting at a terrifying rate.

"No, my Lord?" Lucius repeated. Draco could almost see the lazy, irritated movement of the Dark Lord's hand as he heard this.

"No, Lucius. The Parkinsons are loyal to me already. Draco will marry into one of the neutral families in France. Rosier has approached the Moreau family already, and they are unwilling to join my ranks."

"Clemence Moreau," Lucius confirmed.

"You have two months Lucius, to gain their alliance and the hand of their daughter," the Dark Lord told him.

"Yes my Lord, of course," Lucius said, and Draco noticed the soft hint of gratefulness shining through. It was strange for him to think that he would be engaged by the time the summer came. It left him feeling empty, like a void, rather than the emptiness of a plain canvas that he was used to experiencing. It scared him.

"Severus," Draco caught, returning to the conversation. "What of Harry Potter?"

Draco heard his godfather kneeling to his right. "Dumbledore continues to search my Lord," Severus said concisely. "Potter has made his presence known to the headmaster, but he expressed a strong dislike for him during the conversation."

"What more did you discover?" Voldemort asked, and Draco admired the masterful way in which he manage to embed such a powerful order in such a simple question.

"I was not able to gather more than that my Lord," Severus said. "Dumbledore has become doubtful of my loyalties since your return."

"Indeed, that is much like him," Voldemort murmured. "Continue."

"After he spoke with the headmaster, I…encountered Potter myself," Severus said, a hint of dislike creeping into his voice. "He wishes to learn the Dark Arts."

"And what was your answer?"

"None as yet, my Lord," Severus said deferentially. "I would not want to go against your wishes."

Voldemort chuckled coldly. "Let the boy learn Severus. You will inform me of what he has mastered in each lesson, and how he is progressing."

"Did you wish me to attempt to sway him?" the dark haired man asked, unable to hide his reluctance.

"Do not anger me Severus. Temper your dislike for the boy," Voldemort commanded, a glint of steel in his tone. "As of yet, you will leave him be. Garner his trust in what ways you will. I will be deeply disappointed in you if you are unable to manage this Severus."

"Of course, my Lord," the Potions Master replied, and Draco heard the shift of fabric that betrayed his movement. It seemed that the Dark Lord was finished with him. Draco heard a noise, and two sets of footsteps as the men exited the room.

"Draco…what a unique case you prove to be," the Dark Lord's voice washed over him in a sibilant hiss. He heard a gentle slip of scales, and moments later felt them brush past him. He could see the snake circling him, tighter and tighter, until he was bound in her coils. In times like these he was glad of his lack of emotion. Had he still been able to feel fear, then he would already have deteriorated.

"Emotionless and loyal," the voice said, and a cold hand lifted his chin. Draco met the blood red orbs before him, and he was soon lost in their depths, entranced. "It seems you have been keeping secrets…ah yes," Voldemort shifted, focusing intently on something that Draco couldn't perceive. "Hello Harry."

---

Gasping, Harry jerked from the realm of dreams into waking. There was a feeling of burning in his chest, and flickers of after-images left over from the dream were skirting around the edges of his vision. They were fading as fast as they always did, until all he was left with were a set of eyes the colour of dried blood, floating in his memory.

Calming his breathing and frantically beating heart, he looked about the room. Early light was shining in through the window, glittering off the silvery sheen of Salazar's form. He met the ghost's eyes, and the fragment of his dream seemed to merge into his present vision.

Harry shivered.

"You were dreaming," Salazar noted. Harry nodded mutely, looking away.

"Sometimes I figure it's better that I don't remember them," he said softly.

"Perhaps," said Salazar neutrally.

Harry shrugged off the covers and padded over to his trunk, acutely aware of Salazar's scrutiny. He selected a few unassuming clothes and moved to the bathroom.

With the hot water drizzling down his back, he found he could think more clearly. The shower was certainly not lovely by any standards, but it was soothing, and the steady pulse of water steadied him. Leading his head back, he let it wash down his face. The tiles around him were a dull green, and the edges showed signs of decay and mildew. Obviously the cleanliness of the place didn't extend everywhere.

Turning to the mirror, he noticed that his face had reverted to his own overnight. Still, that suited his purposes, and he spent half and hour crafting one of a responsible looking older man.

Today was the day that he ventured into the Muggle world, and he dressed accordingly. Stepping out of the bathroom, he did his daily exercises and scanned Snape's scroll once more. Since it wasn't yet five in the morning, he settled down to read for another hour or so.

It didn't take him long to pack up his belongings and slip them into his pockets. Leaving the room, he turned downstairs to the main room of the Inn for breakfast. Gillian gave him a polished smile, which he returned with a flirtatious wink. It didn't hurt to flatter people after all. He ate a quick and rather greasy breakfast before walking at a leisurely pace towards Diagon Alley. At six in the morning, on a weekday, Petunia would just be getting up to begin preparing breakfast. If he had been there, it would have been him.

Grimacing, he passed through the Leaky Cauldron, which still had a sleepy air hanging around it. It seemed unnatural to see the pub in the morning, as if the mystery had been scoured from it, leaving only a slightly grubby establishment in its place.

Muggle London had a similar air of quiet about it. Harry passed few people on his way to the station, and most of them were asleep or rather peculiar folk. He decided that most of the people out and about were those that he didn't want to meet, although there were a few that he saw doing their shopping before the crowds.

He had to ask for directions several times before he managed to find the station, and decided to familiarise himself with the area as soon as possible. This was the sort of stuff that he needed to know if he was going to stay relatively safe. When Harry finally managed to locate Charing Cross station, he ended up searching a tube map for a good few minutes to find where he needed to go.

Three trains, a taxi and a good deal of Every Flavour Beans later, Harry found himself standing on Magnolia Crescent. Thankfully Vernon didn't leave for work until quarter to nine, so he had some time left. Still, it had taken him longer than he had thought it would, and he resolutely vowed to learn how to Apparate as soon as possible. A quick burst of magic produced an official looking briefcase, and he began to pack it with the documents he had created last night.

Starting up the road, he walked at a leisurely pace, taking in the place that he had grown up. It was, all in all, a prim, proper and boring neighbourhood, and his magical senses told him that at least one resident was peering at him from their windows. To amuse himself as he walked, he swept his senses through the houses. Jimmy Toots had a large stash of high quality skunk under his bed, and Mrs Green had an impressive collection of porn magazines. Under Number 7's back lawn there seemed to be a skeleton, but it seemed old to Harry. Other than that, there was very little in the way of interesting finds. They were normal people, through and through.

Privet Drive rose gently before him, the sun rather higher in the sky now. It wasn't long before he found himself approaching No. 4, and to his eyes it looked the same as ever. The garden had had some new flowers installed, and the roses looked as if they were approaching the time when they might need to be pruned again. He noted absently that they'd bought a new sprinkler, which was happily chugging away as he approached. It seemed that Petunia had set it on before the men of the house left for work and school respectively.

For a brief moment he felt as if he had stepped back into the past, and that if he looked down he would see his eleven-year-old self, returning from his first year of Hogwarts.

Shaking the notions from his head, he looked down to see well-fitted clothes and pale hands emerging from his cuffs.

Hesitantly extending his magical senses, he encountered a veritable mountain of magical power surrounding the house. Spell upon spell was skilfully woven into the net, creating a shifting mass of magic, all indistinguishable from the other. Harry felt briefly cowed by it all; wondering just how many surveillance spells Dumbledore had on the building.

Still, he could see his guardians if he wanted, and Dumbledore wouldn't stop him. He nodded sharply and walked up the path to the porch. The motion-sensor light snapped on, obviously not yet adjusted for the summer.

With a confident motion, he moved forwards and pressed the electric bell, which rang with a jarring tune through the house in an attempt to create a 'pleasant' and 'homely' feel. There was a brief lull in the conversation he could hear inside, and then footsteps approached.

Petunia opened the door, head darting up and down to take in his presentable appearance and different face. She may as well have been facing a stranger.

"Yes? Can I help you?" she asked. Harry nodded seriously.

"Indeed you can. I am told that your nephew lives with you?" he asked in a gravelly voice he had moulded earlier. Petunia became very pale.

"You're not one of them are you?" she whispered surreptitiously. Harry frowned deeply.

"One of who ma'am?" he asked, laying as much concern as he could into his tone. Petunia looked a mixture between embarrassed and apologetic.

"Please," she said stiffly, "do come inside."

"Thank you," Harry replied.

He followed her down the hall and into the kitchen, emerging on the breakfast scene. Dudley appeared to have grown even fatter, and Vernon was busy shoving a mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. Upon seeing he had a visitor, his eyes bugged out, and he promptly swallowed and wiped his moustache free of food. Standing he stuck out one podgy hand, which Harry shook.

"Good day sir," he said.

"Good day Mr Dursley," Harry greeted him. "I am Henry Smith from the Department of Child Management, and I'm here to speak to you about your nephew." Harry was simply making it up as he went along, but he guessed that as long as he remained official sounding, then Vernon would eat it up. If worst came to worst, he could always confound them.

Vernon became very pink, and promptly dropped Harry's hand. "Vernon Dursley. You…you're not one of them are you?" he asked.

Harry encouraged a stern expression onto his face. "I am quite sure I am not one of 'them', sir. In fact, your wife has already asked me that question. I'm not one to pry, but it sounds suspicious."

Vernon paled dramatically, in a similar manner to Petunia. Harry could suddenly understand why they had married.

"Please, don't misunderstand us," he said gruffly. "It's our nephew, you see, he has made some unfortunate friends…" he trailed off.

"I see," Harry pronounced slowly. "Well, if we could speak somewhere more privately," he said, with a glance at Dudley. Vernon caught his hint.

"Of course, do come into the sitting room," he offered. "Perhaps you'd like a drink?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you," Harry agreed.

"Petunia?" Vernon prompted, and Petunia smiled and left the room with and 'it'll just be a moment'.

Harry seated himself on their sofa and laced his hands across his chest. "The matter I wish to speak about will require both of you here," he said by way of explanation for his silence. "How long has…" he trailed off and reached into the briefcase to remove an official looking slip to read. "…Harry Potter been living with you?"

Vernon shifted uncomfortably. "Coming close to his seventeenth year," he said stiffly. "Listen, he isn't in trouble with the law is he? We've had terrible trouble with him…troublemaker of a boy he is…" he said hurriedly.

"No, no, nothing like that," Harry assured them. "Although a criminal record may affect the arrangement."

"A-arrangement?" Vernon repeated.

"Indeed," Harry agreed blandly. Thankfully for Vernon, his wife chose that moment to enter with the tea. Seating herself beside her husband, she looked up at Harry with what he recognised as her 'hostess smile'.

"Now, what's this about young Harry?" she asked in a too sweet tone.

"We have received papers from another department that indicate that it would be beneficial, if not necessary for the immediate emancipation of Harry Potter," Harry said, dropping the bombshell. The couple blinked.

"Emancipation?" Vernon growled, becoming an unpleasant blotchy colour.

"Quite," Harry agreed disarmingly. "Due to extenuating circumstances, I am unable to disclose the precise nature of this development, but I am required to inform you of the option."

"What circumstances?" Petunia inquired weakly.

Harry pretended to read over one of the files in his briefcase. "It appears to be to do with his schooling. He is apparently in some degree of danger, and his current lack of freedom is preventing him from acting accordingly."

He looked up and saw the Dursleys twin expressions of unpleasant surprise.

"It has been suggested that his emancipation would lessen the threat to both friends and family, and he has been put under governmental protection for his own safety," Harry said in a thoughtful tone.

"Oh…of course," Vernon ground out. "If it will keep him safe, we'll do anything," he said with a saccharine smile.

"Poor Harry!" Petunia exclaimed falsely. "Please Mr Smith, tell us what's wrong with our poor baby!"

Harry promptly decided that Petunia was the most creative of the two, and the better actor, because Vernon was currently trying to maintain a smile while looking mildly sick at the idea of Harry being anyone's 'baby'.

"I am afraid I'm not allowed to disclose that information ma'am. I can assure you though, that he will be taken the best care of." He paused, turning to Vernon. "However, you mentioned that he may have had trouble with the law?"

Vernon looked as if he had swallowed something distasteful. "No, Harry's always been a good boy. He may have been a little unruly, but he's terribly well behaved now."

Harry raised a brow. "Are you sure? If he were to have had dealings with the law, then we might have to rethink our decision. We do not offer such things lightly."

"Oh no, he's the perfect little boy," Petunia hastened to assure him.

Harry retained a sceptical expression, but withdrew the relevant papers anyway. He had cast an illusion over them the previous night, and now the looked typically Muggle and innocuous, and the border was no longer made up of wands and wizard hats. Sliding it across the table, he indicated where the Dursleys should sign.

Vernon and Petunia took no time at all to scribble their names now and hand it back, and Harry was pleased to feel the forms come into effect as he wrote his own name out of their sight.

Several moments later, Harry was walking cheerily out of the door. The only bad point was that he was going to have to find his way back.

If later on, the Dursleys thought that it was odd for a government official to visit them at eight thirty on a Wednesday morning with no prior warning, they didn't give it much thought.

---


	67. Deon Lemaire

---

Moments later, Harry was cursing himself. He clutched at the wildly swinging handrail as the Knight Bus galloped through towns and cities. He could have saved himself both time and trouble if he had merely remembered that the Knight Bus was on hand for travel. Grumbling, he seated himself unsteadily in one of the chairs and looked around the compartment.

There were a few witches and wizards scattered around the triple-decker vehicle, most of them looking tired or nauseous. As the bus drew to a sudden halt, and Harry grasped anything he could reach to stop himself being thrown forwards, an elderly lady staggered downstairs, clutching at her shopping as if it were a lifeline.

Around ten minutes later, Harry hopped off the bus in the centre of London. The streets were a little busier, and by that token there were many more people that Harry could ask.

Spotting a teenage girl wearing a black trench coat, he moved to stop her.

"Excuse me, but can you tell me where the nearest Internet café is?" he asked.

It took him several stops for direction, but eventually he found the place he was looking for. A small shop with a modern looking interior boasting several computers stood out from the others around him. It had bright orange lettering proclaiming various things such as speed and price that Harry didn't really understand. It was a pity, he thought, that he had only got to use the computer briefly when Dudley wasn't looking, or when he had been good enough to try the old one at school. It was worth the yelling for getting better grades than his cousin to use the computer.

Stepping into the place, he looked around. Although there was only one woman at a counter looking lazily over the shop, and a man sitting at the far end of a row of machines, Harry was pleased to note that they had a printer handy. Harry shrugged and headed over to one of them on the same row as the man, since he seemed to know what he was doing.

Squinting for a moment at the instructions, he fumbled in his pockets for a little Muggle change. Withdrawing five pound coins, he inserted them into the thing and booted it up.

Moments later, he was staring at the Google search engine, wondering how to phrase his request. Making up his mind, he ponderously typed in 'submachine gun blue prints' and clicked search. It took a good deal of time, but he managed to locate several possible plans for a variety of guns. Frowning, he barely noticed the man who had been working at the computer down the row pause behind him.

"If its that sort of stuff you want," he said quietly, making Harry jump, "try the Anarchist Cookbook."

Harry looked up to see a broad faced young man with bleached blonde hair who couldn't be more than twenty. "Thanks," he said with a surprised smile, opening a new window to search in. The man swung into a chair next to him.

"So, just what are you looking for?" he asked. Harry watched him uneasily, doing a cursory sweep with his magical senses. Surprisingly, Harry encountered a strong set of Occlumency barriers.

"Perhaps I should be asking you that question," Harry suggested, raising a brow. The man laughed.

"Oh yeah, I know your type," he said. "So what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

Harry found himself wondering whether he'd really just been extended a chat-up line, when he heard the thought 'MAGIC!' projected towards him. He blinked.

"Guess the inability to use computers gave it away then," he drawled, turning back to the screen and clicking a link. "Well, a friend of mine is interested in guns, but he doesn't have access to computers or know how to use them, so I volunteered."

"It's not often you see people like you out in London," the man said, watching him closely.

"You'll be seeing a lot more soon kid," Harry told him. "And if you want to survive you'll stay away from people like me. I'm one of the ones that will treat you right, but you won't always be so lucky."

Inside, Harry was seriously considering Obliviating the man, but his curiosity won out. He gently swept a shield of magic over his screen to show only innocuous titles, and the man's eyes widened.

"I knew it. I bloody knew it and no one would believe-" he cut himself off. Harry frowned at him.

"I'll give you a piece of information free kid," Harry said slowly. "If you'd said this to anyone other than me you'd probably be dead or wondering why there's a big gap in your memory and you're standing in an Internet café."

To his surprise, the man laughed. "It doesn't work on me, see?" he said, tapping his temples. "I felt you…sort of. You're the best I've seen so far."

Harry was becoming increasingly concerned.

"Are you a Squib?" he asked. From the man's confused expression, Harry guessed not. "Right…so how…" he trailed off.

"I could always tell," the blonde man said with a grin. Harry looked at him, unsettled.

"If you were in the wrong hands kid, you'd be deadly," he murmured. "So tell me how I can print this stuff and get what I need."

A few moments later, Harry had paid the bored looking woman at the counter and printed off several hundred pages, keeping a magical hold on the man who had approached him. There was no way he was letting him get away. If worst came to worst, then he'd at least get practice in Obliviation the old fashioned way.

Folding the pages, he slipped them into his briefcase and tapped the man on the shoulder. "Come on, you and me are going to get a coffee or something. It's too bloody early in the morning for things like this."

---

They found a small café and Harry bought them both coffees, himself a better breakfast, and the blonde man an ice-cream. When they were sitting down and had begun to tuck into their food, Harry started speaking.

"Best start from the beginning," he told the man, who was appearing more boyish by the moment as he slurped on the ice-cream.

"Well, I've been able to tell as long as I can remember," the man repeated. Harry chuckled.

"How about your name kid," he prompted. The man laughed.

"Deon Lemaire," the man said with a grimace that didn't hide his feelings about the name. "My great grandfather was French, came over in the war, and I was named after him."

Harry nodded. "I was named after my grandfather," he said, referring to his real name. "My name is Tom Grey."

"Cool," the man interjected. "So ever since I was a kid, I just knew, you know? People passed wearing these funny cloaks and stuff, and I knew they were different. They felt different."

Harry listened attentively, more surprised than he wanted to admit.

"My brother's friend Dennis got some letter, and he showed me because he knew I knew, but when he came back he wouldn't say a damn thing." Deon ran a hand through his hair with a rueful grin. "Something about a secrecy code or something."

"That'd be the Statute of Secrecy," Harry told him with a slight quirk of the lips.

"That was it," the Deon said amiably. Harry frowned.

"Would this be Dennis Creevey?" he asked. Deon broke into a grin.

"Yeah, that's the kid," he said, surprised. "How do you know?"

Harry smiled secretively. "Call it wizard's intuition. Go on."

"Well, last year my girlfriend, me and a few of my mates were walking on the moors out in the country, and I see this massive…like…arena thing," he said gesticulating erratically.

Harry blinked at him. "You saw the Quidditch World Cup Stadium?" he burst out, Statute of Secrecy be damned.

Deon grinned. "Damn right. Strange folk all over the place, on brooms and shit. My friends came up with any excuse they could to leave, but I made them go on until these blokes in weird clothing - I think it was a dress actually – came out and waved their wands, and I found myself in the middle of the moors confused and lost."

"But you remember now," Harry observed.

"That I do," the blonde agreed. "But it came back to me. It didn't with the others."

Harry paused to regard the man before him. He was certainly an enigma. Harry had a feeling his luck had turned to goodness for once. Deon Lemaire was possibly one of the few natural born Muggle Occlumens. Even Wizarding ones were rare, but Muggles? Harry frowned.

"So why did you speak to me, if the last of my kind Obliviated you?" Harry asked, blowing on his coffee to cool it. Deon shrugged.

"It came back to me. It wasn't exactly going to hurt, was it?" he said. Harry shook his head.

"If only you knew kid," Harry muttered. "Listen, where do you live?"

"West London, near Goldhawk Road," he replied.

"All right," Harry said distantly, thinking, "all right. You want to know about the Wizarding world, and I want to find out just how you're sensing us."

"Fair trade," Deon remarked. Harry raised a brow.

"I also want to make sure you don't fall into the wrong hands. I'd invite you back to Knockturn Alley, but I'm afraid it's not that Muggle friendly," Harry said with a trace of sarcasm in his voice. Deon looked confused.

"'Muggle' friendly?" he repeated.

"Non magic folk," Harry replied shortly.

"Come back to my place then," Deon stated after a moment. "I'm renting it for cheap from a friend of my dads, and I don't share it."

Harry hesitated for a moment. It would be so easy for him to be led into a Death Eater attack, but then…

"Are you up for an adventure then kid?" he asked, interrupting Deon's explanation of tube fares.

The blonde grinned. "Damn straight, I am."

---

The Knight Bus provided yet another bone rattling journey. Stan the conductor eyed Deon warily all through the trip, muttering a little about it not being protocol to let Muggles on board, but he had a smile for Harry when he was left a generous tip.

Stepping off the bus, Harry looked around the street. There were rows of orderly looking terraced houses, the paint peeling slightly on a few whilst others were as presentable as the Dursley's home. Deon confidently led the way down the street, not looking as disconcerted by the trip as Harry had expected.

The house they stopped at was a little run down, and the tiny front garden space had obviously not been well looked after in awhile, as large flowering plants had grown wildly over the thigh-high brick wall. The door opened without protest though, and Harry stepped into a moderately small house.

"David's trying to rent out the bottom rooms, so at the moment I live upstairs. He converted one of the bedrooms into a kitchen about a decade ago, so it's really just two flats," the blonde explained.

Harry nodded absently, and restrained the urge to peek around the half-open door that led into the other rooms. His magical senses already told him the house was empty, and very, very Muggle. He'd have to be careful performing magic around here.

If he'd had any suspicions about the man before, they were banished as he stepped into his rooms. They were messy and filled with posters, looking every bit as if they were lived in. The only strange things were that the posters were for things like 'The Weird Sisters' or depicted fantasy characters on brooms. Obviously little Dennis Creevey hadn't been as secretive as the Ministry would have hoped.

Looking around, Harry noticed that Deon had disappeared into the kitchen, and so he followed him slowly. He declined the offer of tea, since he had already had enough cups in a day to last him a year. Harry wasn't overly fond of tea, but he knew that the Dursleys always felt an instant companionship with people who drank 'normal, honest tea, not freakish drinks like you boy'. Deon shrugged and offered him beer, which he agreed to, after a little hesitation.

Withdrawing two bottles, the blonde uncapped them and sat down opposite Harry.

"Right then Deon," Harry began, but the blonde cut him off.

"Dee, just call me Dee. It's bad enough I have a name like that, let alone have people actually call me by it," Dee grumbled. Harry shrugged a little.

"Right. Dee," he repeated. "First things first. There's a war going on in our world, or about to start."

Dee's eyes widened. "A war?"

"A war," Harry confirmed. "The third one actually. The first followed the same dates as the Second World War, and was headed by a German Dark Lord named Grindelwald who was in association with Hitler. The second was by a man far worse, named Lord Voldemort, and a band of his followers who were dubbed 'Death Eaters'. In fact, he was so bad that other than me, there are only about three other people willing to say his name. Everyone else just calls him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who."

He looked up to see that Dee was following.

"A man named Albus Dumbledore killed Grindelwald, and he now runs Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that your friend Dennis Creevey attends," Harry told him. "Voldemort's Fall was on Halloween, 1981, to a baby named Harry Potter." Harry repressed a grin at Dee's wide eyes.

"Dennis mentioned something about him…" Dee trailed off.

"He cast the deadliest curse in wizarding history, the Killing Curse, that destroys a part of your very soul on contact, and instead of killing the babe, it rebounded and struck the Dark Lord, leaving only a scar on little Harry Potter."

"How? Why didn't it work then?" the blonde asked.

Harry shrugged. "No one truly knows, but a popular theory is that it was his mother's love, and when Lily Potter died, she evoked a powerful and primal magic."

Dee's expression became bitter. "That doesn't always happen though."

"No," Harry said quietly. "It doesn't."

"My grandmother and mother were found dead, with no possible causes," he said by way of explanation. Harry nodded sadly.

"My parents are dead," he said blankly. "Killing Curse."

"So what happens now?" Dee asked, but his tone lacked the exuberance it had exhibited previously.

"Harry Potter had rather a bad streak of luck," Harry told him, leaning lazily back in his chair. "In his first year he defeated his possessed Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, who had Voldemort living in the back of his skull. In his second he battled a Basilisk and Voldemort's teenage self, left behind as a memory. In his third he faced the escaped convict Sirius Black, who escaped," Harry said, hating himself for pretending that Sirius was the criminal.

"In his fourth year, he had an unprecedented streak of calm, which was ruined when he was goaded into losing control of his magic and destroying a large portion of the classroom and those that surrounded it. In his fifth year, he was entered the Tri-Wizard Tournament against his will, battled a dragon, swam under the lake for an hour to rescue his friend, and travelled through a shifting maze. At the end of it he was transported to a graveyard, watched Voldemort's rise through the use of his blood, a fellow contender die, and battled the Dark Lord himself before finding a way to return. When he did, he was faced with disbelief, and the Wizarding world labelled him a murderer and leader of rebel attacks against the Ministry of Magic, mimicking Death Eater attacks."

Dee listened, bemused, before laughing humourlessly. "That's not much of a life to live, if you have to do all that."

"It's something I suppose," Harry replied slowly, before coming back to himself. "I'll tell you for now that there are generally only two types of wizards that you'll meet. There are those who'll Obliviate you, or if that doesn't work, get in a high class Mind Arts Master, and there are Death Eaters. If you meet Death Eaters, you'll run if you know what's good for you. You might live for a bit if you get caught, but the odds are you'll get tortured, your family will, and then you'll die."

Dee's face had drained of colour at Harry's cold words, and with a wave of his hand he conjured an image of the Death Eater uniform, which made Dee start with a yell and stumble away from his chair.

"If you see someone dressed like this, run, and make sure you're not caught," Harry told him. "This is the sign of the Dark Mark," he said changing the image, "which is either projected into the air over the scene of their crime, or tattooed on their arm. See someone with this tattoo on their left arm, or anywhere else for that matter, you do what?"

"Run," Dee repeated.

"Good," Harry said cancelling the illusions. Turning, he looked at the young man contemplatively. Where Dee had been calm and chatty before, he was nervous and shaking now. With a sigh, Harry reached out with a calming strand of magic.

That was why he was surprised to see Dee dodge out of the way of it.

"It's to calm you down," Harry said. Dee shook his head. Harry shrugged. "Fine, but at least sit down and finish your beer. The Wizarding world isn't all that bad. We've got great sweets and brooms, and _Quidditch_. In fact…" he trailed off, rummaging in his pockets. "I think I have some Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans left over. Want some?"

Whilst Dee had shaken of the worst of his shock and righted his chair, he cast a suspicious gaze at the beans. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Come on, they won't kill you. The worst you'll get is vomit or earwax flavour, because when they say every flavour, they mean every flavour," Harry said with a grin. "Spinach isn't that nice either."

Dee mimicked his grin falteringly. "Just got a bit…freaked out, you know? It's not every day you get people who can conjure things into your kitchen."

Harry laughed. "For me it is," he joked, popping a red flavoured bean into his mouth and grimacing. "Rhubarb."

Dee tried one. "Violet creams," he said with a cat-in-the-cream smile. Harry scowled at him and tried another.

"Boots."

"Chocolate milkshake."

"Tastes like…old cats,"

"Mm…strawberries."

Harry eyed him with envy. "I've never got strawberries." Popping another one in his mouth, he gagged. "This one is…I'm not even going to say what this one is…"

Dee grinned wickedly and ate another. "Honey on toast," he countered. Harry scowled.

"How is it that you're getting all the good ones?" he demanded. Dee smirked.

"I'm a man of discerning taste," he told Harry seriously.

"Yeah right," Harry grumbled. "Sour milk," he spat.

Dee rifled through the small box. "There aren't any good ones left," he moaned. Harry raised his brows and Dee winked. "I cheated."

Harry opened his mouth to retort before chuckling. "You've got some nerve kid. What's left?"

Dee upturned the box on the table. "Soil, cheese, banana and whale puree, and a bunch of vegetables."

Harry gaped at him. "Merlin…" he trailed off again. "Kid, you have absolutely no idea how valuable you are."

Dee looked at him appraisingly. "But you do."

"Quite," Harry mumbled. "You could make a bloody fortune." He paused, but continued as he noticed Dee's expression. "No, don't get me wrong. I already have more money than I could ever spend. My family were in the business of aristocratic gold hoarding," he told him. "But if you ever wanted to make yourself a few galleons, you know where to come."

"Actually, I don't," Dee said plainly. Harry blinked.

"Oh, right, right. Well, instead of letters, wizards use owls," Harry began.

The next few hours were spent in companionable conversation. Harry explained the joys and faults of the Wizarding world, watching with a certain amount of pride as the man's eyes grew wider and wider. Harry wondered distantly if this was what he had looked like the first time he had stepped into Diagon Alley. In fact, he was considering making a visit just to see what Dee's reaction would be. Not to mention the fact that Harry felt it cruel to just leave the young man hanging. He thought of how unpleasant it must be to know about an entire world and not be able to visit it or have anyone else believe you. Mind made up, he decided to propose the idea.

"Okay kid, I've got an idea," Harry said. "If you've got a free day, we'll visit Diagon Alley together, right? Then you can check out the Wizarding world to your heart's content."

"Brilliant!" the blonde exclaimed, a broad grin coming across his face. "I'm doing nothing now," he continued quickly. "How 'bout you old man?"

Harry spluttered. "'Old man'?" he asked indignantly.

"'Course," Dee replied. "If you keep calling me 'kid', then I'm entitled to a little disrespect."

Harry shook his head, wondering just what the 'kid' would think if he knew that he'd been speaking to a sixteen-year-old all this time. From what he'd gathered of the man so far, he'd probably just laugh.

Harry thought over what he had to do. "All right then," he agreed. "We can drop in on my friends on the way too." Harry looked at Dee contemplatively. "You know that you are quite possibly the only natural Muggle Occlumens in the UK?"

Dee looked at him inquiringly. "Occlumency is the protection of your mind," Harry elaborated, 'tapping' his mental shields to show what he meant. Dee's eyes widened and then he chuckled.

"I'm not a natural, old man. I used to go to a martial arts dojo when I was a kid. We did meditation. The guys there said it would 'protect my mind and help me remember things'," he explained. "Wizards in disguise or what?"

Harry paused before shooting him a half-hearted scowl. "You really had me thinking I'd struck gold there," he grumbled. "Still, I think I can safely say you're one of a kind. Anyway, if we return to my previous comment, I'm going to be teaching them Occlumency. Perhaps you might be able to help," he suggested, standing and throwing his coat around himself.

Dee shrugged. "I might be able to," he said, before frowning. "I sort of assumed all wizards knew…what did you call it? Occlunancy?"

Harry chuckled. "Occlumency, and no they don't, not in the slightest. It's rather an obscure subject really, which puts it as your number one advantage over your average wizard."

Dee smirked. "So I get to fuck around with their minds?"

Harry shook his head in amusement. "That would be Leglimency kid. But yeah, seeing as you seem to have a natural aptitude, you'll likely be able to play. Just don't do it to the ones who know the subject, ever."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Dee replied, turning to lock the front door. "We taking your crazy bus again?"

---


	68. Beaten Up

---

Diagon Alley was full and bustling with activity when they arrived. Since it was around midday, many wizards had left their jobs to get lunch. Spotting Dee's reaction to the array of bright signs and colourful buildings laid out before them, Harry had to restrain his amusement. It was clear to everyone nearby that the young man had never visited before.

'_Shut your mouth unless you want to swallow insects,_' Harry sent to the blonde. His mouth promptly snapped shut and he glared at Harry.

'_So you were never like this then Tom?_' he inquired sweetly.

'_Of course not,_' Harry retorted. _'Nothing so plebeian_.'

'_Ha, ha,_' Dee sent back sarcastically. _'Why has that woman got a flamingo perched on her arm?'_

Harry followed his gaze and spotted a witch with pink hair that matched the flamingo.

'_The wonderful thing about the magical world,_' he said distantly, _'is that you never understand why anything is the way it is.'_

"How about ice-cream then?" Harry suggested. Dee's eyes lit up.

"Guessed my weakness, huh," he commented, eyes wildly twisting in his skull to follow everything that went on around them. Harry thought he was doing a rather good impression of Mad-Eye Moody's eye at the moment.

"Yep," Harry agreed. '_Look kid, it's not always great if you can't do magic here, so I'll cover you wandlessly. If someone threatens you, I'll conjure a wand to appear in your jacket pocket, right?'_

Dee chuckled slyly. _'And that's not suggestive how?_'

Harry rolled his eyes. '_Everything in the wizarding world is suggestive. First time you pick up a wand sparks fly out the end. It's common practice to polish your wands to keep them looking nice too._'

Dee burst out laughing, startling several people around them. Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

"You just wait, you've seen nothing yet," he told him.

The ice cream parlour was packed with witches and wizards, but Harry managed to find some seats next to a pair of gossiping witches. Harry chose to buy himself a sundae, whereas Dee tucked into another ice cream, enjoying all the benefits of the wizarding world and getting every addition he could. Harry just shook his head. There were so many parallels between Dee and himself.

"So Tom, not to be ungrateful, why are you bothering with me?" he asked after some time, and Harry could feel a trace of suspicion emanating from him.

"Trust me, I've got no bad intentions towards you," Harry assured him. "But…I suppose I just don't think its right to know about a world but never interact with it."

Dee nodded. "Damn straight," he agreed. "Just snatches, and no one believed me when I told them except Dennis."

"And he wouldn't speak to you about it more than he did before he knew better," Harry finished.

"Yeah," Dee finished with a glance at him. "Well thanks, you know."

Harry shrugged. '_It's not completely unknown. Muggle parents all know of the wizarding world, and some even buy houses in it, although getting stuck outside anti-muggle wards presents a problem.'_

Dee chuckled and took a thoughtful bite of his ice cream. _'Still…you're not exactly following the normal traditions are you?'_ he replied, before narrowing his eyes in contemplation. Harry had the unsettling feeling that he was seeing something about him that he himself could not '_You're not…I don't think you're who I think you are._'

Harry tried desperately not to freeze, and instead turned to his sundae for distraction. _'Oh?_' he asked neutrally.

Dee frowned warily. _'Well, you are, but you aren't. It's your magic, but I'll be damned if that's what you look like.'_

'_Look,'_ Harry replied slowly. _'You know who we were talking about earlier – no,'_ he said quickly, seeing Dee's face pale, _'NOT the Dark Lord under any circumstances, but the other one.'_

'_Ha-'_ he began, but Harry forcefully slashed the thought out of the air.

'_Don't think it where we can be overheard,'_ he warned. _'I'll…I'll tell you at the twin's place.'_

The rest of their snack passed in almost complete silence, Harry thoughtful and Dee torn between wariness and curiosity for his surroundings.

Harry wasn't sure why he had even ventured to tell this Muggle boy anything about himself, other than the fact that he felt it was wrong for him to be deceived. Something about him was so reminiscent of himself when he was new to the wizarding world that he felt compelled to do a better introductory job than Hagrid did. Besides, for only meeting the man a few hours ago, he _liked_ him. Dee was easy-going and pleasant, and it was a relief to find someone like that to talk to after all this time. His school-friends simply had too much tied up with them, and Harry found it relieving to talk to someone who was effectively unbiased towards or against him. Harry had never been very sociable, so it was a novelty to meet someone and befriend them to some degree on the spur of the moment.

They finished their food and paid, walking at a leisurely pace down Diagon Alley. Dee looked as if he yearned to stop at every shop, but Harry tactfully reminded them that they would have plenty of time later. Dee's face lit up as he realised just which shop they were heading towards though. Spotting his grin, Harry had an idea.

'_Dee, how are you up for playing a prank on my friends?_'

---

A few minutes later, a pair of identical, very serious looking men walked into the joke-shop, both carrying very serious looking briefcases. They cut through the swathe of customers, and stopped gravely at the counter, setting their cases down before the two redheads who were ogling at them.

"Messrs. Weasley? We regret to inform you-"

"-that you are in violation of code 6 of Diagon Alley shop protocol-"

"-and must be shut down."

"Perhaps we would be able-"

"-to speak to you-"

"-somewhere more private?"

The twins' eyes bugged out. "Code 6 shop protocol?" George said warily.

"I've never heard of that," Fred continued.

"Not on my life-"

"-or the contract forms-"

"-was it mentioned," they said seriously.

"I'm sorry if you were unaware of it-"

"-but all Diagon Alley shop owners are informed."

"Since you have a rank 5 violation of the code-"

"-you face the possible loss of your shop-"

"-Ministry possession of your assets-"

"-and a short term in Azkaban prison," they finished simultaneously. The twins had gone sheet white.

Then the man on the left began to laugh, and then the one on the right, until they were both chuckling heartily. Suddenly, the one on the right appeared to dissolve, before emerging as a young man with bleached blonde hair.

"Gred, Forge," the remaining grey haired man said, "I think I've just got one up on you."

The twin's eyes widened, and then one let out a hysterical, if slightly relieved laugh.

"Ah Tom-"

"-that was the best one yet-"

"-no lies-"

"-you really," the chorused, "really had us there."

---

Draco decided that today was the first day of the rest of his life. He spat, and blood tinged his spittle round the edges, bleeding into it. He looked at it with a kind of distant disgust. So it had come to this. The precious Malfoy blood was being spilt without a care in the world.

That thought didn't bother him as much as he'd thought it would.

He stumbled to his feet, pushing himself up off the floor. It had the grit of stone and dirt on it, and it got into his cuts.

Rabastan aimed a punch at him, and he dodged unsteadily. He'd already had all the grace knocked out of him. Stars burst in front of his eyes and the world went black again. When he blinked, he was on his hands and knees once more.

Damn. He'd forgotten about Rodolphus. The brothers worked as a deadly pair. It was difficult to imagine that Azkaban convicts could be so physically fit, but perhaps, he mused, they'd sacrificed their mental health for that of their bodies.

"Get up kid."

A careless kick to his ribs. For a moment Draco saw his future spreading out before him. He'd be kicked and punched until the day he became better than them. Deadlier. He'd kill them when that day came around. Voldemort knew it. The Lestranges knew it. That's why they were getting the best of their blows in now.

He managed to get to his feet again and smiled. It was satisfying to know what would happen in the end. It gave him something to work towards. His training had taken a sudden turn, and he knew without a doubt that he'd need a purpose. He wasn't going to be swayed mentally, he knew that by now, but Voldemort was taking a chance with him. He was making him deadly, and if he turned against his master like the rabid dog he was, well, then he'd be put down like one. But not until he'd killed the Lestranges. There was a roundabout logic to the fact that gave him a sense of grim finality. Until he killed them, he would live.

He wondered if this was how Potter felt.

"Look at him, he's smiling," said one. They smirked to each other, and came at him from each side. He dodged one blow and blocked another, but they caught his legs and he fell to the ground with a thump.

"I want him functioning when I get him," said a stern voice from the right. "No sense teaching if he's too screwed to take it in."

"Ah, Augustus, you're taking the fun out of it," Draco heard one say. Their voices were so similar that they may as well have been twins. As it were, they were born only a year apart. He remembered that now. Rabastan landed an experimental kick on his skull. He missed the first, but he blocked the second.

He'd kill them.

"All right boy, get up." Rodolphus then. Rabastan called him 'kid'. A soft exhalation of air drew something akin to a moan from him. He hadn't meant to make a noise, and it irritated him in an odd manner. Apparently there were some things that not even detachment could control. The brothers laughed.

He was standing and looking at them now, slouched slightly to one side to lessen the pressure on his ribs. It wasn't so much that he couldn't bear the pain, but he knew that the pain was a warning of damage that he didn't need.

"We'll have a little one-on-one, hmm?" Rabastan hummed. He was the younger one, and more vicious than his brother.

They'd set a pattern for the rest of the lessons, Draco saw. They'd have an all out with the two of them until he was bruising prettily, and then they'd teach, if that were what it could be called. Rodolphus was the more defensive one, Draco noticed, more solidly built and full of blocks and parries that seemed to have the weight of stone behind them. Rabastan was leaner, darker and quicker. He moved with cruel stabs and kicks. Draco wondered what he'd end up like when they'd finished with him.

Rabastan settled into a fighting crouch and moved towards him. Draco mimicked as best he could considering his bruised ribs, and made ready to dodge the attacks. He didn't yet have the strength or surety of hand to parry. Still, he'd only had an hour or so of training yet. He'd get better. He had to.

He managed to dodge the first few before he ended up cradling his arm to his body. He was tiring, which Rabastan seemed to realise because he reluctantly subsided. He was still being played with, but it was not likely to damage him permanently any longer. Draco considered relaxing, but it would cost him later, he reasoned.

He stumbled out of the way of another attack and aimed a clumsy lunge towards Rabastan. He thought of fencing and tried to apply it here. When he was thrown to the floor again, that tactic was dispelled.

"It's not sword fighting boy," Rodolphus told him steadily. "You're using your body, not a foil."

"Again," Rabastan commanded. Draco regained his feet once more.

He'd moved his memories of Harry's visit to the sanctuary of his Mind Centre as soon as he had left. He wasn't sure why, but he was sure that it would do him no favours for Voldemort to find those memories. He had been privately surprised that the Dark Lord hadn't ruined his Mind Centre yet, but he supposed that if the man wanted to nurture devout loyalty then violation was not the way to go about it. Not yet, anyway. He had time still.

He would be learning the finer points of offensive and defensive duel work with Rookwood. He was a contrast to the Lestrange brothers. They were physical attackers, using fists and feet as much as magic, but Rookwood had worked in the Department of Mysteries. He was steeped in spellwork up to his eyeballs. To Draco he had no place in the world of hand-to-hand combat.

Thump.

On the floor again. He would have sighed, if he had had reason. He would wait and bide his time, until the day came for them, and by extension he, to die.

---

"Harry Potter," Dee said slowly, turning the word over in his mouth.

"It's a hell of a mess old Harrikins is in," Fred observed. Dee nodded agreeably.

He'd had a bit of a shock when the grey haired man he was with dissolved into a brilliant eyed sixteen-year-old. Dee couldn't help but commend his acting skills. Of course, he suspected that both Muggles and Wizards based far too much on appearances. He'd been expecting a change, but not one so drastic. He filed it away for future reference. It would help him improve his awareness. Everything is all not as it seems. It became of great importance to him to absorb as much of this culture as he could whilst he still had access to it, because he wasn't sure when he'd next have a chance. Anything he knew would give him an advantage. It was something he'd found out early on in life, when his mother had been killed. He knew she'd been killed now, for sure.

Dee had a feeling he'd be tangling a lot more with the Wizarding world in the future. He'd liked to think that he was a canny young man hidden behind an exterior of open geniality. Tom, or rather, Harry, had left shortly after introductions were made, leaving him 'in the capable hands of the twins'. Well, he'd thanked him for the opportunity and said goodbye. He'd learn as much as he could while he still had the chance.

"Well," one of the redheads he'd been left with began, looking at him with evident curiosity, "you look like a fine upstanding fellow."

"Indeed, brother o' mine, he does indeed," the other replied. "And you can sense magic too."

They turned to each other with a knowing smile, and Dee soon found him with an arm draped over each shoulder as they leaned towards him conspiratorially. "We've been in need of a man like you, and the prank you pulled is more than enough to prove you've got a pranksters spirit."

"So," the one labelled 'Fred' said with a grin, "have you got a job you're particularly fond of?"

---

Harry walked swiftly down Diagon Alley. He hadn't really been intending to leave so soon, but revealing his true identity had unsettled him. He'd made sure to place a piece of tracker magic on the young man, as well as getting such contact details as his phone number and email address. Dee had given him a strange look as he'd tagged him, but he hadn't said anything. Harry was unsure as to whether he suspected something or he knew and accepted it. Either way, his spell wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

As he passed the Magical Menagerie, he slowed in thought, Salazar's words on snakes coming back to him. Eventually he drew to a halt and peered over the heads of pair of children ogling in the window. It wouldn't hurt to look, he resolved.

Stepping round them, he entered the shop. As usual he was assaulted by the unmistakable scent of hundreds of animals crammed together that not even the most powerful cleaning spells could erase. Wrinkling his nose, he scanned the shop for the reptiles. He had further examined the book that claimed to teach Parselmouths to learn to talk to other creatures, but it had turned out to be a disappointing fake. It seemed that for the moment he was limited to snakes.

The serpents themselves were in a small, cramped few tanks at the back, barely bigger than a shoebox. The creatures in them ranged from non-magical snakes to magical ones, some of them changing colours and others able to curl into interesting shapes. Harry regarded them with a certain distaste. He had been hoping for a poisonous one, but the closest he came to it were a few that had had their poison rendered magically redundant. Not only that, but their conversation was practically non-existent. As he listened, they chattered away in monosyllables about food and smells. All in all, it was rather disappointing.

_Salazar?_ He called. _I don't remember snakes being this dim before…_

_Snakes are not by nature intelligent creatures,_ Salazar's voice sounded in his head, and a cold hand settled on his shoulder.

_But the ones in your rooms-_

_Had been my companions for years, to which I paid particular attention,_ Salazar cut across him. _Close proximity to speakers improves their minds, but they can only truly be advanced through spells and generations of breeding._

Harry sighed disappointedly. _I suppose I could…experiment on them though, _he said, although it made his stomach twist strangely to imagine what might happen if he got any spells wrong. He didn't want to kill his new-found pets. Experiments, he corrected.

_It would not do you harm to improve your animal spellwork,_ Salazar replied neutrally, as Harry returned to examining the tanks.

Threading his magic around him in the now familiar net of silencing and concealment spells, he leant towards the tanks.

"_Which of you wants to come back with me?_" he asked, going for the direct method.

"_Outside._"

"_Food."_

"Slither…" 

Harry repressed another sigh. _Do I just pick some out then?_ he asked Salazar.

_If you wish, _he said. _Select a few of the smaller ones that may be used as fodder for the other reptiles._

Harry nodded and lowered his magical concealment. A little while later he had left the shop, clutching a small box of non-magical snakes. They were harmless little creatures in soft browns and greys, and he could hear their protests at being rattled around as he walked. He had also bought a reasonably sized tank and a variety of foods for them.

Since it was only around midday, he decided to return to his room in Knockturn Alley. It took him a little while to thread back through the weave of streets, but he was soon setting the case down on his unsteady wooden desk. The hissed protests continued for some time afterwards, but eventually they stilled. In the meantime, Harry bustled about, setting up their tank. He cast the required spells to activate the heat and light, filling it with a soft ground of wood chipping and transfiguring a piece of parchment into something resembling a log for them to hide inside.

"_There's a new home for you here,_" he told them. "_Much nicer than the last one."_

"_Nicer."_

"_Home."_

"_Nest."_

Harry sighed and opened the box. The snakes cowered back, huddling together and blinking at him stupidly.

"_I'm going to pick you up and put you in your new home,"_ he informed them. "_Don't bite me."_

"_Bites."_

"_No."_

"_Home."_

"_Up."_

Harry got the feeling as he scooped the small pile of sinuous bodies into his hands that he was going to get increasingly irritated with the way they simply parroted his own words back at him. He kept hoping that one of them would say '_Oh, I can't believe you fell for that stupidity act, man-speaker!'_ but no such thing was forthcoming. The snakes hissed happily as they slithered around the tank, enjoying the surroundings, the periphery thoughts showing that they were already forgetting they'd ever been anywhere else.

He kept remembering the various other snakes he'd met over the years. Surely they hadn't been so dim-witted? The basilisk certainly hadn't, but that had been a thousand year old magical creature. One ended up expecting some degree of smarts from something like that. The snake Malfoy had conjured had seemed to understand him, but it hadn't said anything, so he couldn't tell. Perhaps it was a trait of snakes bred in captivity. But then…

The boa constrictor in the zoo had been bred in captivity, and that had been quite vocal. Perhaps he should breed his own snakes…but that would take him several years to get even a little headway into the subject. There were laws against experimental breeding, but Harry didn't think he'd have much trouble with those. After all, he was a wanted 'criminal' anyway, how much worse could he make it?

He thought back to the boa constrictor with fondness, and then growing thoughtfulness. He'd liberated it once…where was it now? He had a sneaking suspicion that it was probably back behind the glass in the zoo. It was hard to miss a 6ft boa when it slithered past you, and unless it had made it to safety or the sewers it wouldn't have been able to go far. Certainly not to Brazil. Besides, the tanks in London Zoo weren't exactly spacious.

Mind made up, Harry rearranged his face into something general and unnoticeable and Faded to Muggle London, just outside the Leaky Cauldron. He suspected that Stan Shunpike might become a little suspicious if he repeatedly boarded the Knight Bus heading Merlin knows where in one day. And he'd certainly remember the man who brought a Muggle on the bus.

"London Zoo please," he told him, hopping onto the vehicle.

"Right you are sir," Stan said. "That will be eleven sickles for the plain fair, thirteen if you want hot chocolate on to-"

"Thanks."

Harry cut him off by depositing the eleven sickles in his hand and taking a seat. It wasn't that he didn't like Stan, but being drawn into conversation would only make him stand out. Considering that he was on his way to, quite possibly, steal a snake from the zoo, he didn't want to be memorable.

London Zoo was almost exactly as he remembered it, right down to the animal smell that hung about it, and the crowds of children, even on a rather overcast weekday. He paid the rather steep price, considering that if his plan ran true, they'd need to cover the cost of the reptile.

Consulting a map whilst waiting in the queue, he located the reptile house. After he had bought his ticket from the rather grumpy woman at the counter, he made his way over to the animal enclosure, frequently checking his map. He nearly ran into a child in the doorway, not used to noticing people who barely came higher than his knees. After projecting his sincerest apologies to the kid's mother, he entered the building.

It was dark in a rich, warm way. He took his time passing the other reptiles, examining dull-eyed lizards perched on rocks, and glistening tree frogs. When he came on to the snake section he found it peculiarly silent. None of the chatter he would have expected came from the tanks, where the snakes lay coiled haphazardly over rocks and trees. Occasionally he'd pass a tank which children and adults crowded around, where the snake was shifting restlessly from side to side.

Harry went from tank to tank, listening for any give-away hiss. It was only when he was nearing the end of the corridor that it occurred to him that the sounds from behind the glass were probably dampened. Not to mention that day upon day of the same place probably left one rather bored. At least some of the serpents had companions.

It was only after a good deal of searching that he came across the familiar tank. He noticed that the glass had been upgraded, and there were heavy metal bolts holding it in place, although they'd obviously weather over the years.

Despite, or perhaps because of this familiarity, Harry found himself shocked to be staring at a conspicuously empty cage.

---


	69. Anguis

--

Things were not going to plan. Harry stared blankly at the empty tank that was meant to contain the boa. Shaking himself from the stupor, he glanced down at the plaque below, but it merely said the same things it always had done. Brazilian Boa Constrictor raised in captivity. He looked stupidly at the bare terrarium once more before a vague idea to find some manner of personnel entered his head. He remembered there being people who were feeding the reptiles when he had visited, but he couldn't remember if there were scheduled feeding times or not.

Snapping back to his senses, he swept the area with his magic. He bypassed children and adults alike, until _there._ A discernible figure of authority, carrying a bucket of dead chicks towards the alligators.

Harry sped up, using his magic to impede the man's progress before his disappeared from the public area of the reptile house. He rounded a corner and spotted him, lowering his pace to a brisk stride so as not to alert suspicion.

"Excuse me sir, you wouldn't happen to work here would you?" Harry asked. The man turned, surprised to find someone there when there hadn't been before.

"Why yes I do," he replied. "Did you need help?"

Harry smiled disarmingly, and used his magic to thread a calming sensation through the man. "Actually, yes, I could do with some help. See, I'm a fan of Boa Constrictors, but the tank here seems to be empty…?"

The man returned the smile. "That snakes been acting up. It's become something of a myth in the reptile house. About five years ago the glass just vanished from the front of its cage, and it nearly escaped, see." He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "My guess is it got a taste of freedom and wanted more, because it makes a run for it whenever we clean the cages or feed it. Last time it got injured, so we've taken it out until the vet can see it."

Harry smiled again, but inside he was frantically trying to work out a way to get to it. Normally he wouldn't have taken such a risk, but there was something of an adventure in this. Besides, how else would he improve if he didn't practice?

"Oh? Is the vet coming soon enough that it'll be back on show?" Harry asked.

He sensed a brief swell of suspicion, but he drowned it with a wave of compulsion. "The vet should be coming in the next few days, but I don't know the specifics. I only work with the lizards and crocs."

"Shame," Harry remarked. Checking that no one was in the near vicinity, he raised the wall of concealing magic around them and reached for the man. With a careful twist of his magic, he managed to send him into the realms of unconsciousness. He had a private fear that he had accidentally killed him as he slumped to the floor, so similar was it to the spiders he'd killed.

However, he was still breathing gently, so Harry breathed a sigh of relief himself. Settling himself on the floor, he immersed himself in the man's mind. There was the usual jumble of images, and Harry found himself assaulted by dozens of memories before he managed to gain control. Slowly, he began a systematic search for information. He picked out the man's identity and committed it to memory, not daring to steal such crucial information. Jason Tyler was his name, and he worked part time at the zoo. He had a grown daughter, and rented a flat from the council out in Islington. Harry memorised the name of the vet, but Jason hadn't seen his face, so Harry could only hope that he wasn't a regular visitor. The woman who managed the snakes was named Dorothy Visor, and she'd taken the Boa off display three days ago.

The only thing Harry did steal was the layout of the corridors behind the main reptile displays. The last task that remained was to erase the last few moments from the man's memory. It took him some time to isolate them, and they were slippery to his senses, already looking as if they were about to dissolve. Harry decided to simply help matters along.

He tried to isolate them, as Salazar had done his, but he only managed to partially succeed. Still, he mused, something is better than nothing. Stepping back, he cast an illusion over his clothes to make them appear fitting to a vet. Harry was rather following what he'd read in books or seen on the television with a white lab coat, but it was better than nothing. Finally he conjured himself a briefcase, and partially dropping the concealing shield he awoke the man.

"Sir! Sir? Are you all right?" Harry asked, lacing his voice with concern as he knelt beside Jason. The worker raised a hand to his head and rubbed his temples with a frown.

"Uh…I…what happened?" he mumbled. Harry held out a hand to help him to his feet.

"You just collapsed. I saw you from a distance and came to help," Harry said. "I'm Terry Mording. I was called in to see a boa?"

"Oh…you…oh!" Jason exclaimed. "Right, right. You know, I had the strangest dream, that some kid was asking about you." He narrowed his eyes and scrutinised Harry intently. "Even looked like you," he murmured, and then shook his head. "Well, I'd best be getting you to see Dorothy then shouldn't I?"

Harry smiled warmly. "That would be very helpful of you sir."

"Why are you in the reptile house anyway?" Jason asked conversationally as he picked up his bucket of dead chicks and fumbled in his pocket for the keys to the door behind them. Finding them, he pushed it open and beckoned Harry into the corridor. There were bright, neon lights running along the ceiling, and the paint was peeling in places, but Jason just walked straight on.

"I'm not the regular for this job," Harry said with what he hoped was a disarming smile. "Didn't know where to go."

Jason huffed. "Head to the offices usually, and someone with phone through. Anyway, s'pose you're here now aren't you?" he chuckled a bit.

A few twists and turns later, Harry found himself in front of the desk of a rather podgy lady in square, unflattering clothes.

"The vet Dorothy, about the python. Uh. Boa Constrictor," the man corrected, leaving the room with an encouraging smile at Harry. Harry wondered just why he was going to need an encouraging smile.

"You're not our usual snake specialist," the woman stated bluntly. Harry laced a similar field of calm and compulsion about her as he had Jason. She seemed to relax a little, but the stern expression remained on her face.

"Terry Mording. Jerry had a prior engagement today, as you know," Harry said, seating himself on the chair before her. "He's training me however, and an incident as small as this won't require much."

Dorothy snorted and eyed him appraisingly. "You don't look like much," she said finally. Harry put a smile on his face.

"Appearances can be deceiving," he replied. She snorted again, disbelieving, but Harry reached out with a thread of magic to induce trust.

"I suppose you'll do," she said grudgingly. "All right Mording, come along. We put it in one of the cages in the back," she said, standing abruptly and walking past him to the door. Harry tried not to scramble to follow.

The room was long and dimly lit. Various tanks adorned it, looking strangely out of place scattered around the floor. Most of them were empty, but in a few there were reptiles, most either asleep or looking around themselves with varying degrees of boredom. They approached one of the largest tanks, and Harry had a strange sense of de ja vu to be looking at the Boa Constrictor he had set on his cousin all those years ago.

It was currently curled up in a heavy mass of scales, its head tucked out of sight. Its scales were dulled with dust and sand from the bottom of the cage, which was almost completely empty. Harry assumed it was to stop it damaging itself further.

"This is it," Dorothy told him. Harry turned to her with a smile.

"Thanks," he said, and promptly dropped her to the floor, unconscious. Moving his magic to lock the door and prevent people from coming this way, he looked back to the snake.

"_So,"_ he hissed. "_Been trying to escape have we?"_

The boa promptly dropped its sleeping act and looked towards him with as much suspicion as a snake could muster. Its head swayed gently back and forth as it surveyed him, wary.

"_Well,"_ Harry continued. "_I'm here to give you a proposition. You remember the kid that first let you out, all those years ago?"_ The boa paused and nodded. "_Well, he was a wizard. He grew up and learnt to cast spells, and found out that not everyone could talk to snakes. He had a special gift, you see."_ Harry told it, gesturing idly with his hands. "_But there was a problem. Another, evil wizard was trying to kill him, who could also speak to snakes. So, not to be at a disadvantage, he went to a pet store to buy a snake of his own."_ Harry shook his head. "_But a nasty surprise was laying in wait for him. It seems that the majority of snakes have little more of a brain than the stuff they eat."_

He paused and met the serpent's eyes. "_So, what I want to know is how you, a simple boa bred in captivity, comes to be of a far more remarkable intelligence than your peers."_

The snake settled back down, regarding him steadily. _"What's your proposition amigo?"_

Harry grinned broadly and sat down on his haunches before the tank. "_You can stay here and live out your life – it may be boring, but you get regular meals, and who knows? You might one day even succeed in getting to Brazil. Or,"_ he continued, "_you could come with me. I have someone trying to kill me, someone powerful, but as long as you don't sell me out to Voldemort or try and kill me in my sleep, I'm fine with feeding you and keeping you company._"

"_The company here isn't brilliant,"_ the boa stalled.

Harry snorted. _"No doubt about that. You can barely hear what they're saying, and its not like you have another snake in with you."_

"_I did once,"_ the snake said dreamily. "_Oh, she had the most beautiful scales I'd ever seen, but they transferred her. She wasn't good conversation, but…"_

The boa rippled his scales in something that almost translated as a shrug. Harry raised a brow.

"_You might even get to visit Brazil with me,"_ he bribed. The snake snapped back to attention.

"_I don't follow false promises amigo,"_ it told him shrewdly. Harry rolled his eyes.

"_Then we can find you a lovely female snake, hmm?"_ he coaxed. Privately he realised that he was probably going to take the snake with him whether or not it wanted to go, now he'd gone to all this trouble, but he might as well give the illusion of choice and have a willing ally rather than a grudging one.

"_I wouldn't be uninterested…" _the snake said slowly. "_But no cages, food when I ask for it, and the freedom to come and go as I want."_

Harry laughed. "_As I would for any of my friends,"_ he pushed. "_Besides, wouldn't you just love to see dear Dorothy's face when she sees your empty cage?"_ Harry asked, making a guess.

"_Yesss,"_ the snake crooned, uncoiling itself and butting the top of the tank with its head. "_Take off the lid amigo, let me out."_

Harry smirked and banished the lid with a flick of his hand. The snake rapidly darted over the top, slithering heavily down the side. Harry caught it, and the boa slowly wound its way around him, over his shoulders. Harry couldn't help but feel a slight hint of nervousness to be in the coils of a bone-crushing reptile, but the knowledge that it could be little threat compared to his magic reassured him. The heavy weight of the sinuous body settled over him, both comforting and restricting. Not to mention heavy.

Harry mutely admired the smooth glide of warm brown scales and beautiful patterns. The snake was truly quite beautiful. The patterns became darker towards its tail, the buff brown fading to a deep reddish colour in dark splotches that reminded him of almost a leopard print. The boa's head was delicately tapered at the snout, and it flicked its tongue softly over his face, taking in his scent.

"_You taste different than others…"_ it trailed off thoughtfully. Harry shivered. The touch tickled and made the hairs on the back of his neck rise up.

"_I imagine I would,"_ he replied blandly. "_Brace yourself, since you're most likely unused to magic."_

He swept both of them under the Chameleon skin and reached a tendril of magic towards the prone keeper who was sprawled out on the floor. She mumbled softly and opened her eyes with a grunt. For a moment she seemed to suffer intense disorientation, before rubbing her head with one short fingered hand. Looking around, she seemed to realise where she was, and both Harry and the boa watched with some satisfaction as she swore colourfully and dragged herself to her feet. With a flash of memory, she seemed to realise that both her 'vet' and snake were gone. For a moment she merely stared blankly at the empty cage, taking in the absolute lack of a lid, before she bawled,

"ARNOLD!" and stormed out of the room. Harry sniggered silently.

"_I couldn't be more satisfied,"_ the boa hissed by his ear. Harry grinned.

"_Neither could I,"_ he agreed. "_I was considering 'liberating' the rest of the snakes, but…well, that seemed a little too cruel now."_

The snake's scales rippled happily, in what Harry assumed was the serpent version of a laugh. Harry conjured himself a mirror and began to fashion himself a new face whilst he waited for the keeper to return with 'Arnold'. He changed his hair to a darker shade of brown, and made his face appear thinner and meaner. His eyes became a uniform shade of blue rather than light brown too.

"_It tastes like…"_ the snake trailed off, feeling the air around him with his tongue.

Harry laughed. "_Let me guess, just like magic?"_

"_I want to eat it,"_ the boa told him. Harry's eyes widened.

"_Woah, no eating, remember? Or you'll go straight back in that glorified box they call a terrarium,"_ Harry threatened. Something told him that the snake wasn't buying a word.

"_Are there things like you I can eat?"_ it asked. Harry shrugged.

"_I suppose I could buy you a magical rat or something._"

"_What about rabbits? They gave us them sometimes…"_ it asked.

Harry grimaced slightly. He could deal with the idea of his new companion eating rats, all he had to do was think of Wormtail after all, but cute, fluffy little bunny rabbits…

"_I'll think about it,"_ he replied evasively, just as Dorothy burst back into the room, gesticulating furiously, followed by a rather nervous looking man with a frail set of glasses who was peering hopefully round her shoulder.

"-fake stole it!" she exclaimed. Arnold blinked owlishly.

"It does seem that way doesn't it?" he replied in a mild tone. "What did you say his name was?"

The woman began ranting again when Harry remembered something.

"_Didn't you get hurt?"_ he asked. The boa shifted uncomfortably.

"_I heal quickly,"_ it admitted finally. Harry frowned.

"_Are you sure you aren't magical?"_ he asked. He felt a rippling shrug from the snake again.

"_I don't know. I still have a bit of a cut, but it isn't big,"_ it told him. Harry considered this thoughtfully.

"_Perhaps we'll take a look at you when we get back,"_ he thought out loud, glad for the silencing magic around them. "_For now, where do they keep rats?"_

"_In case it escaped your notice amigo, I only saw the place from one angle: the inside of my cage,"_ the snake said scathingly. Harry ignored it.

"_Right then, we'll just have to find out,"_ Harry said.

A little while later, Harry Faded out to the front of London Zoo. It had taken him several tries across the room to manage to transport the boa with him, but he eventually managed it. Making sure the snake was still masked from sight, and using his magic to take some of the weight off, Harry called the Knight Bus for the last time that day. The boa became very panicked on the bus, but Harry assured it that the trip was far quicker, and tipped Stan substantially to up them to first place in the queue.

When Harry finally stepped off the bus, the snake was shivering, and had buried its head in his shirt. He made a firm resolution not to take reptiles on buses anymore. Ever.

The boa quivered and shook, writhing around over him and complaining in an unsettled way.

"_Is it gone…oh, it must be gone, mustn't it…nothing as bad, never again…don't want to…"_ it muttered hysterically. Harry raised a hand to run a soothing touch down its back. He laced him magic with a similar calming air, and the serpent gradually stilled, although it still twitched occasionally, and its head hadn't appeared back out from Harry's shirt. It seemed that bravery wasn't exactly its strong point.

With a careful glance around him, Harry Faded back to Knockturn Inn and made his way to his room. Gillian gave him a strange look as he entered, since she hadn't heard him leave and Apparition had scheduled points, but Harry shrugged it off. She'd fill in herself that perhaps she'd simply missed him. Even among wizards where they did the impossible every day, they tended to ignore or justify to themselves things that they didn't want to see.

Harry collapsed onto his bed with grateful sigh. The boa, which had been wrapped around his body began to uncoil itself, and Harry threw the Chameleon Skin off of it.

"I see you acquired a companion," said a smooth voice behind him, making Harry jump. He hadn't noticed Salazar where he sat at the desk.

"Higher than the average intelligence too," Harry told him with a hint of satisfaction. "He wasn't easy to get."

Salazar raised a brow. "I'm sure."

The boa slipped elegantly off of the single bed and made his slow way about the room, inspecting it.

"_This is your nest, amigo?"_ it hissed from the bathroom.

"_For a little bit, yes,"_ Harry told him. The boa poked its head around the door.

"_You will be moving?"_ it asked, confused. "_But this is a comfortable place."_

Harry shook his head with a smile. "_You've got a lot to learn about humans friend. We don't always nest in the most comfortable place. We're on the move, and we'll be moving much more than others._"

If the snake was able to snort, it would have. "_Snakes move to hunt and follow prey. Just because I was contained all my life…"_ it trailed off, apparently tiring of the conversation and going back to exploring the bathroom.

"He has potential," Salazar mused, looking towards the serpent. "But it would not be amiss to take him through several rituals and spells."

Harry frowned. "I don't want to end up hurting him," he said. Salazar raised a brow.

"Of course not little one," he dismissed. "That is what your pets here are for, although I must say that you managed to pick the lowest of the low. The have little more smarts than the prey they eat."

Harry laughed. "I said the same thing myself to the boa. Not my fault they're stupid. I'll still try and fix that _before_ I start experimenting on the lone smart snake I have though." Harry paused thoughtfully. "He'll need a name…"

Salazar looked surprised. "Snakes do not have names, little one."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I can't just carry on calling him 'the snake' or 'it'," he retorted. "_What do you want to be called?"_

The snake came slithering out of the bathroom again. "_I don't understand,"_ it told him. Salazar shot him an amused look, which Harry pretended to ignore.

"_Well look, I'm called Harry. It distinguishes me from other humans,"_ he told it.

"_You smell different to other humans, and taste different,"_ it replied plainly.

"_Yes, but humans can't smell or taste the difference, so sometimes we get confused,"_ Harry said.

"_Silly humans,"_ the snake hissed.

"_So we came up with names,"_ he continued. Behind him, Salazar laughed, and the snake's attention was distracted.

"_There is one without taste here,"_ it said suspiciously.

"_Only me little one,"_ Salazar replied. The boa promptly left Harry in favour of pursuing this new curiosity.

"_What are you?"_ it asked. Salazar laughed again.

"_A human, dead,"_ he replied.

"_But you don't smell dead,"_ it observed. "_You have no scent at all."_

"_I am a ghost. Part of me remained behind when I died, but it was not my body,"_ he said. "_See?"_ he asked, bringing a foot through the snake's tail. The boa jerked back hastily.

"_Cold,"_ it hissed, going into a defensive pose.

"_Indeed I am,"_ Salazar smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes and Salazar's smirk broadened. "_Can we get back to the names?"_ he asked impatiently.

"_I still don't understand amigo,"_ the boa replied, keeping a wary eye on where he thought the ghost to be.

"_They are a word that is almost exclusively unique to you, so that when I call then you answer to it,"_ Harry explained.

"_What do I answer?"_

"_Not answer like that, but it alerts you to…"_ he trailed off, regarding the boa. "_You're just messing with me aren't you?"_

"_Never amigo,"_ it replied, but Harry couldn't be sure. He raised a brow and glanced at Salazar, who still watched them, eyes alight with amusement.

"_Do you want to pick a name?"_ Harry asked finally.

"_Just a word?"_ it asked.

"_Exactly,"_ Harry confirmed. The boa seemed to pause for thought.

"_Rat,"_ it replied finally. Harry groaned.

"_Why did it have to be rat?"_ he asked, rubbing his temples.

"_They are my favourite food,"_ it replied, then paused. "_Staple diet,"_ it corrected.

"_Couldn't it be something more…"_ he trailed off. "_Noble?"_

"_I'm not a noble snake amigo,"_ it replied. "_What am I to do when you talk of rats?"_

Harry groaned again, turning to Salazar. "Can't you help?" he appealed. Salazar gave him a long look before turning to the boa and hissing quietly. Harry leaned forwards but couldn't catch more than a few words. He had a feeling that Salazar would be reminding him of this for a long time.

"Anguis," Salazar told him smugly. "It refers to a snake, or the hydra constellation."

Harry looked at the boa sceptically. "Will that translate well?"

Salazar watched him, unreadable. "_Anguis,"_ he hissed, and the boa twisted its head round to look at him.

"It's only a little way away from 'sanguis', for blood," he noted. Salazar smiled viciously.

"I thought it appropriate."

Harry frowned at the serpent. "I suppose it is," he mused. "It's also quite close to a lot of things. Add an 'h' at the end and you get 'anguish'."

"Word games cease to have meaning after awhile. Still," Salazar remarked casually, "you may read into the name what you like."

"_Anguis,"_ he called, and the snake turned towards him, gliding gently across the floor to wrap around him.

"_I like the name,"_ the boa told him. "_It sounds like running water."_

Harry raised his brows. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the way snakes thought. Or at least, he wouldn't cease to be surprised by them. "_You're male right?"_ he asked. The snake bumped its blunt snout into his head, affronted.

"_Of course,"_ it replied. "_Are you?"_

Harry laughed. "_Of course."_

"_And you said you're magic,"_ it continued. Harry nodded. "_I want magic."_

The boa paused hanging around his neck to meet his eyes. Harry smiled. "_You know, I think that can be arranged._"


	70. Azkaban and Personas

--

The Great Hall bustled with activity, students busily heating their breakfast and talking loudly to each other in the early morning light. The weather was dim and cloudy, with a uniform monotone grey spreading from horizon to horizon. Despite that it was summer, the students were wrapped in thick sweaters and socks under their robes, rather than the customary warmer garb. On a positive note, because of the Chills nearly every witch or wizard in the castle had learnt the warming charm, and many had also covered the heating charm.

Hermione wasn't thinking about that though. She sat at one end of the Gryffindor table, frowning furiously at a fat golden galleon. Tapping it with her wand, it glowed briefly before falling back to its usual complexion. The students nearby had given her strange looks at first, but they soon turned back to their meals. It was just Hermione practising her spells again.

"'Morning," Ron said, falling into a seat next to her. Hermione looked up to see who it was before turning back to the coin.

"Good morning," she replied absently, still frowning at the galleon. Ron peered over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Hermione sighed and set her experiment down on the table beside her now stone cold food.

"I'm trying to make a way of alerting people to when we're going to be playing Fate's Joke again," she told him.

"Not working hmm?" Ron hummed, tossing the coin in the air and catching it again. "You'll manage Hermione, you can do anything when you set your mind to it."

Hermione held out her hand, and Ron deposited the galleon, turning to fill his plate with food. "The problem is," she said, "that the goblins have laid very complex spells on the galleons. It means they can track them when they go missing, and it prevents forgery, but…"

"Tricky magic goblins," Ron said between bites of food. "Bill's always tellin' me about them. Got minds like nothing else, but trying to break their magic is like slamming your head against a brick wall." He paused and his eyes widened as he realised what he'd said. "Sorry 'Mione."

Hermione sighed, setting the coin back down. "No, it's all right. I'll find another way I suppose."

Ron looked at her seriously. "You're starting to feel bad about not being able to break goblin magic aren't you?" he said incredulously.

Hermione bit her lip. "Perhaps. It's just that I know I'm so close, but I can't seem to get the rest of the spell to work!" she exclaimed.

Ron shook his head. "You're mad, you are. Wizards have tried and failed for centuries to break the magic on those coins." He took another bite of his toast. "Not that I would be surprised if you did 'Mione. If anyone can, it's going to be you."

She smiled, a little embarrassed, and turned back to the coin. A few minutes later, the usual flurry of owls flew in, carrying letters and copies of the Daily Prophet. Hermione wasn't roused by the owls, but she was by a dreamy voice from beside her.

"It's bad news, you know," Luna told her, bulbous eyes wide and serious. Hermione wondered why she wasn't sitting at the Ravenclaw table, but Luna simply smiled and slipped into the seat beside her.

Picking up the coin as Hermione waited for the post, she said conversationally, "You know, Fudge nearly cut off all communications with goblins when he had their deputy assassinated."

Ron blinked owlishly at her before shaking his head and turning to join Hermione as she watched the reactions of the other students. The ones that had paid the Prophet owl and flipped open their papers had become as pale as a sheet, staring at the article with a mixture of horror and morbid fascination.

When the owl finally landed before her, Hermione snapped the paper up, not even looking as she shoved a few Knuts towards the bird. Luna had been right, for once. The paper bore grim news.

'**MASS AZKABAN BREAK-OUT! – POTTER FREES PRISONERS!**

_Yesterday evening the Wizarding world experienced an unbelievable shock, as the second mass breakout in history occurred. The first was during You-Know-Who's first reign, freeing many of the same convicted Death Eaters. It seems that young Harry Potter is walking in his footsteps!_

The surviving Aurors all gave the same testimony after they had been treated to intense care in St Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies. Apparently Potter had rallied his followers and used a set of magical boats to reach the island. These were magically enlarged to hold the escapees. He led his forces up to the Azkaban gates and dismantled the security spells with surprising alacrity whilst his followers disabled and killed several guards.

_The Dementors that guarded the prison were said to stand to the side as Potter's Dark Forces entered, not attempting to attack. Is it possible that Potter has managed to gain the Dementors' co-operation? This reporter for one hopes not._

_The forces travelled quickly to the high level cells, freeing a total of ten prisoners. Among these are Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, Antonin Dolohov, Dominic Jugson and Evana Rosier. Two other lower level convicts were murdered, the Ministry released today, by the names of Ella Morgan and Murgo Slough. The Aurors have yet to ascertain why Potter thought it fit to murder these two prisoners, but eyewitness accounts given by nearby convicts mention that he said these words:_

'_Your bodies will be a warning to them all.'_

_In response to the breakout, Minister Fudge released this statement: 'That Harry Potter is a dangerous criminal can no longer be disputed, and we will be doing all we can to capture and subdue him. At the very least he will receive a lifetime sentence to Azkaban, although many families have been pushing for a Dementor's Kiss._

_We have no doubts now that Mr. Potter helped to free Sirius Black. We have received recent information that Sirius Black is, in fact, Mr. Potter's godfather, and as we understand it the convict Black and Potter are providing a rallying point for the freed criminals._

_We have already sent information to the Muggle Prime Minister on the escaped convicts and Potter, and any Wizarding citizen should summon Aurors on sight should the spot them. Be cautious as you go about your business, but you should feel you can rely on the Aurors and the Ministry itself. Although such a breakout is shocking, we are putting every available resource into the capture of these criminals.'_

_All Wizarding citizens are encouraged to memorise the captions below in order to preserve safety. The Ministry will shortly be sending a 'Home Protection' leaflet, and it is recommended that families and friends set up a password question in order to prevent the criminals from using disguises as much as possible._'

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat as he read, and the paper crumpled under his fingers. Anguis coiled around him, hissing comfortingly.

"_What's wrong amigo? You taste of fear._" he questioned. Harry sighed and tried to relax. He was glad that he'd explained the basics of the world to the snake the previous night, because there was no way he would be able to do it now.

"_The impostor has broken out ten high level criminals,_" Harry spat. "_Using my face, of all things. So now I'm in even more trouble._"

Anguis seemed to pause to think. "_Then you should use his face. Then they will believe that he has returned._"

Harry scowled. "_Or think that I'm impersonating him. It will only end up back-firing on me,"_ he sighed. "_No, I'll just have to lay low and make sure my plans play out properly._"

The boa hissed in assent, and Harry returned to his breakfast. He had spent the previous evening filling the Anguis in as to the current events in the wizarding world, and the snake had had a clarity of mind about it that lifted a weight from Harry's mind. He didn't yet trust the snake enough to share his plans with it, but he had a feeling that when he did, the creature would have a very unique view on them. Any external input was good, but as Salazar had pointed out, sometimes a serpent's was better than anything else. They had a cold distance from human events that formed a very different opinion of events.

The snakes he had bought before the boa were resting happily in his room above, whilst Harry consumed his food. They had not grown any more intelligent for having Anguis as company, but instead had flinched back, afraid that Anguis would eat them. The boa hadn't seemed too averse to the idea, but Harry had forbidden him. Instead he had hissed threatening things to them and curiously circled their tank, terrifying the poor animals. Salazar had found it all incredibly amusing.

Harry was feeling rather nervous. He had decided to reserve his room for a couple more nights, until he had finished all of his arrangements. Tonight was the night he was meeting Isabelle Walker and Asher Durand for his sword, and he was anxious that it go off well. He really needed that sword and it seemed with further research that Asher really was the only person who could make it in Britain. Harry really didn't want to have to head over to France for a sword, although he would if Asher refused.

He planned to spend the day frequenting the Knockturn Alley shops and making further purchases to add to his growing list of curiosities. Hopefully he'd pick up some more information in the process too. He was slowly trying to build up a good reputation for himself, or rather 'Tom Grey'. The alias had become very useful, but Harry suspected that he could really do with a few others, particularly as he now had two versions of Tom Grey.

So, after breakfast and the most unwelcome news, he headed back up to his room. It occurred to him that he was going to have to do something with Hedwig, because as much as he loved her, the snowy owl was simply far too noticeable as Harry Potter's owl. Either he would have to spell her a different colour or he would have to buy a new owl. He didn't think she'd appreciate that, but it might become necessary. Still, that could wait until she returned. He was getting a little worried about her, but really all he could do was trust that she was okay.

Sitting on the floor, the boa constrictor uncoiled itself from around him and returned to the warmth of the bed. It had crawled in beside him in the middle of the night, complaining about the cold, and Harry had woken with an incredibly heavy set of coils over him and panicked. Anguis hadn't taken that so well.

The moving instant pictures of him were set out on the floor, and Harry took three pieces of parchment out in order to add new pages to the Book. He fastened each picture at the top of the paper and began to write.

The first was 'Tom Grey #1'; the friendly faced young man that had met Isabelle Walker, the people of Mercury Avenue, the people of Diagon Alley and Helena Sprite. Harry quickly scribbled down who he had met, and what he could remember saying to them. He could probably get away with changing his face with the first three, but Helena Sprite was going to be a problem. Harry had half considered telling her the truth, but had rejected the idea out of hand. He couldn't risk his identity until he could erase and alter memories well enough to go undetected if something went wrong.

The second was 'Tom Grey #2', the mysterious looking man who strolled around Knockturn Alley and saw through street-trader's tricks. Harry did a preliminary sketch to jolt his memory of the people he had spoken to, in particular the woman selling teeth. She'd remember him because he'd wronged her in her eyes.

The third person was 'Henry Smith', the stern old government worker who'd gone to meet the Dursleys and relinquish them of most of their guardianship of Harry Potter. On that note, he had to go and see Grimgore with the papers again or send them off through owl post. It was probably better that he saw the goblins, as they'd make sure no 'mistakes' occurred in the transactions. 'Henry' also caused a rather unwise scene in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

This was also the person who'd met Dee, but since Harry had told him his true identity he needn't worry about personality juggling. Internally he was kicking himself for revealing himself to the kid, but it was done now. He would simply have to pay a visit to him soon and further impress on him that he shouldn't, under any circumstances, ever tell anyone about 'Harry Potter'.

After filling in the details about himself, Harry conjured a mirror and started designing himself several other faces. He created 'Damien Brown', who had suitably dark brown hair and unreadable eyes. He wasn't astoundingly handsome by any means, and Harry tried to make his face as ordinary as he could. 'Damien' would be someone he'd use to perform unmemorable tasks and mingle in crowds.

He decided to base another person off 'Henry Smith' and morph the face slightly. That personality was practically null and void now that he'd used it to fool the Dursleys, and he embossed that on the piece of parchment detailing him. Instead, he created another stern looking man, with greying mousy brown hair and a slightly receding hairline. He gave him a rather impressive nose as a tribute to Snape, but kind dull blue eyes. Rummaging around in his head for names, he titled the sheet 'James Martin'. He'd use this man when he needed to impress his age and experience on people to make them co-operate.

He briefly considered using a woman's form, but decided to put it on hold for now, since he couldn't be sure he'd get all the proportions right. Better to wait until he had someone to reference from, otherwise he'd end up messing up. Of course, he also remained unsure of how complete he should make the illusion. All in all, he thought he'd wait for a better time.

He then created a third 'Tom Grey', which was a morph between the two. He kept the hair of 'Tom Grey #2' as a dusty grey, but he lightened the pupils a little more and added a dash of blue to them. No sense remaining conspicuously monotone in areas where lack of colour would go noticed. He kept the nose of 'Tom Grey #1', and the mouth, although he made it less full and a little meaner in proportions. This would let him pull it into effective sneers without completely losing the ability to look friendly. As he hadn't done with any of the others, he altered his teeth to make them a little less uniformly square and added a chip to one of them. He kept some of the flesh that had been on 'Tom Grey #1', but added the illusion of muscle beneath it.

Finally, he went back over all the personas so far and changed their teeth. He couldn't believe he had forgotten something so vital. He'd remembered ears, but not teeth. He also made a mental note to invest in brewing a hair-lengthening potion. That done, he read over the different pages before adding them to the Book.

"It would be worth investing in protections for the book," Salazar remarked from his chair, casually examining his nails. Harry supposed that some gestures didn't die no matter what.

"I suppose," Harry frowned. "But it's not like anyone's going to steal it from my pockets. I have spells around them."

Salazar gave him a long look and Harry dropped his eyes. "Right," he mumbled.

"You would do well to evaluate your security little one," he chastened. "Were dear Voldemort to discover and capture you, your plans would be laid bare before him and his use. He would know precisely what it is that you are creating and therefore how to combat it."

Harry hung his head. "Right," he repeated. "How can I hide it?"

Salazar looked at him through unblinking eyes. "You know of the Fidelius, little one. It is a spell to hide a secret within one person, which cannot be taken without their consent."

Harry blinked. "I don't know how to perform it though," he pointed out.

"I do, and since I am dead then there is little chance of physical torture drawing the secret from me," he said calmly. Harry frowned.

"What about exorcism?" he asked. Salazar smiled, baring sharp teeth.

"A Muggle concept. It may ward a ghost away, but almost nothing can contain a spirit," he said.

"But what if Voldemort found a way?" he asked softly. "Then you'd be trapped."

Salazar shook his head smugly. "Voldemort cannot contain me, nor would he wish to."

Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one. "How many secrets can one person hold?" Harry asked. Salazar became thoughtful.

"One, with the more modern versions of the Fidelius. When hiding a building or residence then it is possible to keep only one secret. However, with smaller objects the secret is comparatively smaller. The Book may be of great consequence, but the book itself is small, and therefore requires little effort to conceal," Salazar explained. Harry's mind began working overtime.

"There are lots of possibilities with this," he mumbled out loud. "If it was possible to weave the wards of a place into the Fidelius then…that would be perfect!" Harry exclaimed. "The Fidelius would hide the wards, and because of that the wards could only be dismantled if the Secret Keeper was to tell the enemy where the base was."

Salazar looked at him with a pleased smile. "Very true little one. But likewise, when the Fidelius fell, so would the wards."

Harry rubbed his hand thoughtfully. "How big a secret are wards?" he asked.

Salazar's smile became even more pronounced. "Precisely," he said softly. "However, the Fidelius is only for hiding objects that are not alive, and by nature magic is a living being. It is this that prevents Hogwarts from being placed under the spell, along with its size."

"Because the castle is alive," Harry breathed. "But could it be modified?"

"Perhaps," Salazar answered evasively. "It would take centuries work, perhaps an eternity to be able to hide people, but I suspect that magic would not be a trouble for you."

Harry nodded, tracing the grain of the wood in a floorboard idly with one fingertip. "But it would be difficult to pull off, wouldn't it? Because…" he trailed off, trying to formulate his thoughts. "Because if I do the wards, then the magic is mine, and the secret that we're trying to hide is by extension me."

"Wrong," Salazar cut across. "The secret you are trying to hide is the function of the ward. When magic is instilled with a function it becomes unique from the caster. You should know this," he reprimanded.

"I should," Harry admitted. "But if we hide the function then would it hide the magic itself?"

Salazar smirked. "By extension, yes."

"In theory," Harry added.

"In theory," Salazar agreed. "But what effect would it have were it you who was concealing the function?"

Harry frowned, his hand pausing as it drew patterns on the floor. "I don't know."

"Come Harry," Salazar prompted, "you are better than this."

Harry turned to look at him. "I suppose it would either fail, because it sort of came in a full circle back to me, or it would work even better than before." He stopped, something occurring to him. "This is if we can even layer Fidelius charms."

Salazar inclined his head. "With the older versions, it is possible," he assured him. "Now, to return to your speculations, why would it fail?"

"Because if…if I've cast the wards, and they're separate to me then…if I cast a Fidelius over the top, they'll have a link back to me, and the charm would be trying to hide me again," he reasoned out slowly. Salazar smiled.

"Very good."

"So I need other people to cast the Fidelius or the wards?" he asked. Salazar nodded. "Right. So it should probably be me casting the wards, because I've got more power to put into them, and Voldemort…well, I wouldn't want to take the chance at him finding out what the secret is."

"It would put your friends in jeopardy," Salazar remarked. Harry frowned, and then his face lit up.

"Ah, but what if I'm not using my friends?" he asked. "When I've improved with the Mind Arts I could always capture some poor fool who's going to be rotting in prison anyway and set the commands to cast the Fidelius and then lock them back up inside the place they've just protected."

"How delightful my little one," Salazar grinned. "It seems that your less Gryffindor attributes are coming into use at last."

Clemence Moreau sat in the arbour at the bottom of her garden, enjoying the sun. She liked nothing better than summer, and would have been sprawled out on the grass had she felt at ease. As it was, she was sitting rather stiffly in her seat, looking out towards the house. She'd been politely removed from the building whilst her parents talked to their visitor again.

Burying a frown that threatened to rise, she picked at a loose thread on her dress. It made up one of the many embroidered flowers around the hem, but she had worn it so many times that the colours had been bleached out by the sun and there were slightly ragged patches on it in places. Still, she didn't mind. It was her favourite dress, and it had become habit as soon as she smelt summer in the air to take it out and put it on.

With a sigh she leaned back and looked at the weave of plants above her. Honeysuckle grew its clever little tendrils through the wooden weave, blossoming and attracting insects. The bees they kept were always drawn to it, and they made especially nice honey. Her brother Laurent always came back to visit them in the summer, and Clemence was looking forwards to it greatly.

Or she had been, until that man had shown up. The first one had been a strange looking fellow who had eyed her unpleasantly. Her parents seemed to recognise him, for her Mama quickly hurried the maid to take her away, and they locked themselves in the drawing room with him. She could hear them taking lunch together, and she wondered what it was that they were talking about. Still, she was too old to listen at keyholes anymore.

She hadn't missed the goings on recently. There had been strange looking people around Paris when they visited, and her cousin had said that they had come over from England, searching out the Dark wizards.

But her parents weren't Dark.

Grandmama had been, but she had died giving birth to her mother so she didn't know much about her. Still, her cousin had given her an idea of what might be happening. Because Grandmama was Dark, these men were coming over and talking to her parents. She didn't understand why they didn't just tell them to leave, but she supposed they knew more about these things. Perhaps that was why she had been called back from Beauxbatons. She missed Belle terribly, and Gabrielle. She'd arrived back three days ago, after the man had left, and she'd spent her days in the garden like she had when she was a child.

The clementine tree they'd planted on her eleventh birthday had grown, and now she was unable to reach the branch she used to use for climbing. She'd grown too, but the plant was faster.

She flipped her wand and conjured a little silver bee to buzz around her head with the others. She missed her school, and her home was no longer so inviting anymore. At this time of year the deep water around Beauxbatons would be just perfect for swimming, but she was going to miss that icy chill that came from the mountain streams. And for what? They still hadn't told her, despite her pestering.

She wished Laurent were here.


	71. Dinner With The Moon Walkers

**Hi there, sorry for the long wait. I've been backpacking across the US for three months, and forgot to put a note up before I left. Unfortunately, the computers I was using in hostels didn't seem to like the formatting on Fanfiction dot net, which meant I wasn't able to put up a note till I got home, which would be...er, right around now. Enjoy the triple posting as recompense. These are the chapters where you'll finally get your answers.**

--

Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot outside 'Moon Walker Jewellers'. Isabelle had been friendly towards him, but it didn't lessen his tension. He'd left Anguis at home on his bed, and Salazar had merely wished him luck and evasively told him he had things to check up on. He had mentioned that he would give him his opinion on blades or techniques if he needed it though.

Taking a steadying breath, Harry knocked loudly on the door. For a long time he thought that nobody was home, or perhaps he'd made a mistake and they'd forgotten about him, but then the lights flicked on in the shop and he heard the clatter as a lock was undone. Behind the warped glass he could see a figure moving, and then the door was opened and Harry found himself facing Isabelle.

"Hello Tom, you're right on time," she greeted him with a smile. Harry mirrored it and stepped through.

"How are you?" he asked as she locked the door again.

"Oh, I'm all right," she told him, turning around. "Here, let me take your cloak."

"Thanks," Harry said hesitantly. "I brought a bottle of wine for you," he added, withdrawing said bottle from his pocket before she took his cloak away.

"Oh how lovely!" she exclaimed, and to his profound embarrassment, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "That's very kind of you dear, I know Dimitri will be thrilled."

"Your husband?" Harry hazarded a guess as she led him up the stairs behind the counter.

"That's him," she chuckled. "We will have been married twenty years this time next month."

Harry's eyes widened. "That's a long time," he mumbled. "How long have you had the jewellers?" he asked.

Isabelle smiled at him and opened the door into a comfortably furnished sitting room. For some reason, it wasn't what Harry had been expecting, but it made him feel instantly at home in the same way that Hogwarts did.

"The Jewellers has been in his family for generations, but I took over the counter when I married him. He just sits up back and does his carvings, don't you dear?" she called.

"Don't I what Bella?" a scratchy voice came from what Harry assumed was the kitchen.

Isabelle laughed. "He's losing his hearing," she told Harry in a stage whisper. Harry chuckled.

"Not so much that I can't hear you saying that," came the reply. "Our guest arrived?"

"Yes, thank you," Harry called out, stepping past Isabelle into the kitchen. "Thanks for having me."

The man before him was wearing an apron and standing before a large stove that could rival the one in the Burrow. He had dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail so that it was out of his face, flecked with streaks of grey and white. His face had an open, friendly look, although a scar ran across one eye, distorting the pupil. Harry couldn't help himself from wondering, but flushed when he was caught staring.

"Accident when I was cutting one of the stones," Dimitri said, gesturing to his eye.

"Sorry," Harry apologised. "I didn't mean to-"

"Don't worry lad," Dimitri brushed his apologies off. "Tom Grey, then?"

Harry nodded privately relieved to move on. He held out his hand to shake the jeweller's.

"Dimitri Walker," the man replied.

"He brought some wine with him dear," Isabelle said, moving past them to show her husband.

"Very kind of you," Dimitri replied. "Why don't you pour out a few glasses whilst we wait for old Asher?" he addressed his wife.

She smiled broadly. "Brilliant. Come on then Tom, we'll leave Dimitri to his cooking."

She led him back into the living room and continued to lay the table, which she'd obviously been in the middle of when he'd knocked. Harry tried to help, but she brushed him off swiftly.

"No, no dear, you're a guest," she told him. "Sit down and I'll get you a drink."

Harry complied with a bemused smile, and soon he was sitting with a glass of wine in his hand, chatting amiably with Isabelle. She seemed to have an innate talent to set people at ease, or at least, set him at ease, and she was able to chatter away enough for the gaps in conversation to be filled. Harry generally tried to steer the conversation towards her and her husband, but eventually he had to give something away.

He cheerfully told her that he was visiting a cousin, and he generally lived up in Scotland but had come down to London. His family was British, which explained his accent, and they worked in the fabric trade. Thankfully he had absorbed enough from Helena's book on fabric magic to bluff his way through. He also distorted the truth about his dealings with her, saying that he had come to visit Diagon Alley because he had heard of a good business opportunity with one of the robe shops.

In contrast, he found out that Isabelle had originally lived in Wales with her family, and had moved to London after she met Dimitri. He had been travelling around the British Isles to find specialised gems, with a look to visiting the rest of the world when they had met at a small summer fair. It had apparently been one of those 'love at first sight things'. However, they'd had a vicious spat and she'd returned to Wales and he'd gone on to his travels. It was only years later that they met one another again, and this time she told him that they were both mature enough to stick it out together. So they'd moved to London and picked up his family business.

Apparently sales had been waning in the past decade, and they'd had to move from their larger building into the smaller one on the square where they were now. Still, she told him, they lived comfortably enough, as there was no shortage of demands for raw and crafted gems, and Dimitri imported large quantities, specialising in crafting. Isabelle simply worked the sales of Jewellery whilst the real work happened in the workshop out the back, where Dimitri crafted gems and stones to be fitted in mansions or put on canes, used for stone craft, Cauldron Gems and Spell Fastening. Harry's ears perked up at this.

"Really?" he asked. "I'm a great fan of Spell Fastening. I'm being taught by a family friend at the moment, but it's be good to know where I can buy the raw materials now."

Isabelle winked at him. "I'm sure we can see it in our hearts to give you a discount," she said.

"No, I couldn't do that," Harry refused, but found himself touched by the generosity. "I have too much money to know what to do with anyway."

Isabelle smiled at him. "Well, the offer's on."

Harry nodded. Soon Dimitri exited from the kitchen to inform them that the food was done and they would now only be waiting for Asher. They spent a several minutes more in quiet conversation before there was an amplified knocking from downstairs. Isabelle rose and made her way to unlatch the door, and soon she returned, followed by a tall, weather beaten man.

Harry thought that he looked like nothing more than a rock that has stood in the rain for too long. All his angles and sharp corners had been worn down, and his face, although lined, looked as if it had been washed smooth. He looked as if he had once been filled with colour, but over the years it had been bleached away by the sun.

"Dimitri," he greeted Harry's companion. His voice was as soft and worn as his appearance, but it had a rough quality behind it. "And you must be Tom Grey," he added, looking at Harry with wise eyes.

"I am," Harry replied. "It's nice to meet you," he said, standing to shake the stranger's hand.

"Asher Durand," he replied quietly. He raised his head and inhaled deeply. "The food smells good today. What is it?"

"Phoenix Bread Stew," Dimitri replied, a smile on his lips. "But I'm surprised you even ask anymore. You must know all my dishes by scent anyway."

Asher smiled knowingly and took a seat beside Harry. "And Isabelle, how are you?" he asked. The older woman smiled.

"Fine, fine. The cut on my hand's cleared up, and we had a veritable boom in sales the previous week, didn't we dear?" she replied, turning to Dimitri.

"Oh yes," he chuckled. "Tourists."

They talked back and forth for a bit, Harry remaining mostly silent. However, as dinner was served Asher turned to Harry and began to speak to him. He had a slow way of speaking, seemingly as if he were absorbing every fact that Harry told him. This made Harry rather worried, because most of what he was saying were half truths.

"A snake?" Isabelle asked, surprised. Harry nodded with a slight smile.

"I like them," he said. "No matter that there's a stigma about them, they're beautiful creatures."

Asher looked at him thoughtfully. "What breed?"

"A boa constrictor, a non-magical snake," he explained. "I went to the Magical Menagerie, but…well, they were all so _flashy_, and none of them seemed very bright. I got the boa from the Muggle world instead."

"I think I know them," Dimitri interjected. "I saw a wild one once when I was travelling."

"You must have attended Hogwarts," Asher noted in his solemn voice. Harry turned him with a half-smile.

"I was in Gryffindor, but it was a close call," he told them. Asher nodded thoughtfully and took another bite of his meal. "This is lovely, by the way," Harry addressed Dimitri, gesturing to the food with his fork. Dimitri smiled faintly, and it was not long before the meal had been finished, down to the last drop of stew.

As they settled back and Harry wiped his mouth with his napkin, Asher turned to him. "Now, you wanted to talk of swords," he said in that soft voice. Harry inclined his head.

"I am being taught to fight with a sword by a family friend, the same one who is teaching me Spell Fastening actually," Harry said. "But for that he insists that I get a good blade. He is a master swordsman, you see, so I can't use his as they're all coded to him."

Asher nodded slowly, indicating that he continue.

"I travelled around Mercury Avenue, but…well, the swords didn't suit my needs. I'd be able to fasten spells to the metal, but not with the same skill or precision, and they wouldn't be interwoven in the same way. Also…" Harry trailed off, unsure. "I heard that only a Master Crafter would be able to create a sword with a magical core."

Harry watched with fascination as Asher's brows rose slowly up his forehead in an expression of surprise.

"That is quite the challenge," he observed. "I have not made a sword with a core since my own."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "See, I have some ideas that I wanted to talk to you about," he said. "I know that you interweave the magic as you mould the metal, but would it be possible to use Spell Fastening on the ore before you melt it, and cause the spells to become innate in the raw substance and then weave in the magic?" he asked.

If possible, Asher's eyebrows rose even higher. "It is a possibility," he said eventually, seeming to turn the idea over in his mind so as to view it from all angles. "But Tom," he said slowly, "what will you use this blade for?" Harry could hear the silent 'supposing it is made'.

He frowned, thinking the question over carefully. "I will be using it, that is the truth." He paused, and took a breath. He should tell the truth as much as possible. "I don't know if Voldemort is back or not," he said quietly, and the couple beside him gasped. Asher drew in a deep breath like wind though a tunnel. "But I do know that there are ten convicted Death Eaters on the loose, and more that were never caught or imprisoned. The deaths in the Ministry are not inconsequential, and almost every new move is putting an undiscovered Death Eater in power. With that in mind, we're in danger as it is, and I want to be prepared if it comes to a fight."

The couple seemed to be waiting with baited breath as Asher took in his words. "You believe that the Dark Lord has returned then," he breathed. Harry filed away the use of the term 'Dark Lord' for future examination. As far as he knew, only Death Eaters used it, but his magical senses told him that there was no Mark on his arm.

"I believe that no sixteen year old could do the things the Prophet is saying he has," Harry said finally. "Adult, battle-hardened criminals are not going to rally around what is, in effect, a child in their eyes. Potter may have had run-ins with the Dark Lord, even defeated him as a baby, but that doesn't give him that kind of power."

_If only they knew,_ came a soft whisper in his head, and he knew that Salazar was listening to the conversation, even if he wasn't there. When he was present, he always laid a hand on his shoulder or arm to let him know.

"In the end," he finished, "Potter is inconsequential. The only important thing is that our society is protected, and whether I like it or not, that will require weaponry."

The three adults regarded him for a long time, and the moment stretched until Harry thought he had been wrong in his guesses, perhaps he'd overstepped his boundaries, perhaps…

"Come to my workshop in Hogsmeade on Sunday," Asher told him finally. Harry nodded seriously.

"Thank you," he said. Asher shook his head with a smile that was tinged with sadness.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to fit you with something, but I'll do my best nonetheless," he said.

It was swift after that. Harry could just feel in the atmosphere around them that his mention of Voldemort had put a dampener on the evening – he wasn't sure in what way, but it hung between them all like some unsaid secret and cast a melancholy pallor over their conversation, so Harry made his excuses and thanks as quickly as he could, and soon he was outside, breathing deep gulps of cool air.

Night had settled over the buildings, and it hung chill around him, caressing his skin. Harry sighed in relief, taking in the scents and sounds of the soft evening. It wasn't bitingly cold, but it took away the beads of sweat that had formed on his brow as he talked to the three adults.

Rolling his head back, he started to walk. This was the kind of night that should be spent out on a balcony, smoking, under some sullen sky that threatened to douse the heat with rain. Wizards, he supposed, wouldn't have the same problems that Muggles did with smoking. They could probably just filter out the tar and nicotine in the cigarette without trouble. He wondered absently if wizards even smoked. They must, he mused. He'd never smoked himself, but Dudley had, and he'd got himself a stash of weed over the summer which he hid in one of his drawers. Perhaps he should nick it and try. Harry sighed again, cutting himself from his musings. There was so much that normal teenagers did that he never had. He'd never even got drunk for Merlin's sake! Well, perhaps when his birthday rolled round he'd experience some of these things. There was still time before his life became completely absorbed with Voldemort.

That cheerful thought in mind, Harry flashed back to his room in a flare of green flames.

"-fucking insane Snape! Why didn't you tell us they were planning a fucking prison break?" Sirius yelled at the Potions Master, who was sitting quite still, watching him impassively. Sirius' voice was already growing hoarse.

"Because I wasn't informed Black," Severus said tiredly. "And as aware as I am that my life means very little to you-"

"Got that bloody right," Sirius cut in, but Severus continued as if he hadn't heard him.

"-that does not mean that I wish to spend what could well be the final Order meeting I attend listening to your mindless blathering." With an uncharacteristic weariness he rose, and headed towards the Floo, Sirius' shouts dissolving behind him to mingle with those of his mother's portrait. Severus considered that there was probably some ironic humour in that, but he couldn't rouse himself to find it amusing.

'_Such eloquence as always,_' said a dry voice in his skull. '_Mind you, the dog does have a pair of lungs on him.'_

"No doubt," he replied, seeing Sebastian draw up beside him. "I always wondered what death would be like, and now I know. It's the sound of the mutt screaming insults at me," he said blankly.

Sebastian laughed. '_There are always chances,'_ he said. Snape would have snapped back, but he knew that the other man was right. There were chances.

"I doubt that many of the Order would be grieved to see my corpse laid out before them," he replied, adding '_bloody and mangled'_ in silence.

Sebastian laughed again. "No, I don't doubt that. I however, would care." He paused. "It's a pity that Potter isn't around. We could use a timely vision."

Snape bared his teeth in a silent snarl. "For all the Dark Lord knows, we could be finding out by scrying with a fucking mirror."

'_My, my, keep that growl up and he'll have no doubts that you're evil,'_ Sebastian laughed in his skull, but the sound didn't grate. At least someone was making light of his implicated death rather than looking at him with pity.

"I've been proven in the wrong Sebastian," he said shortly. "For me to be uninformed of an attack of this scale is obvious. The Order would not miss it."

Sebastian looked at him thoughtfully. "Have you considered a Time-Turner?"

Severus levelled him with a long look, before dropping the Floo powder and saying 'Dumbledore's Office'. Sebastian sighed and mimicked the motion, spinning in a stomach-churning turn for a moment before being thrown out of the fireplace. He landed gracefully, but it had taken him years to achieve such an effect, and he could remember Severus' mocking smile after each failure. The first time he hadn't landed as a dusty heap on the floor, he'd been so surprised he'd dropped anyway.

"Perhaps scrying is not such a terrible decision," Sebastian suggested with a humourless smile. "You have a few days whilst he decides whether you are to die or not."

Severus grimaced, standing like a dark blotch against the desk. "I said I would die. You can interpret that in whatever way you choose," he spat out, and Sebastian bit back a choke of surprise.

He knew exactly what Severus meant. The man he knew as Severus would die, but his body might not. The Dark Lord was fond of playthings, and even fonder of experiments. There had been many a horrific appearance of some mutated beast that had once been a human during the last war. At least, Sebastian thought with relief, he hadn't yet managed to create liquid moonlight. That was a secret that should remain unknown.

"Draco is to become a killer then," he said neutrally, as they descended the stairs. Severus snorted.

"He is already a killer," the younger man replied. "I've seen him kill without a flicker of remorse. When they cut the Living Metal out it destroyed part of him, and now the Dark Lord is using that to his advantage."

Sebastian frowned. '_Who is he being instructed by?'_

Snape laughed mirthlessly. '_Rookwood and the Lestrange brothers.'_

Sebastian sucked in a slight breath, and the rest of the walk was spent in contemplative silence. He hoped that his friend drew some comfort from his presence.

Peter considered the fragments of conversation he had heard. So the young Malfoy heir was being trained. He wondered by whom, and privately hoped that it was someone vicious. The boy was the only link to his father, and Peter hated the blonde aristocrat more than he could express. The Dark Lord filled his life with pain, but the elder Malfoy was a creature he detested above all else, because he could raise a mirror and reflect his own weakness back at him. He reminded Peter of just where he came in the food chain, and just what a miserable traitor he was, more so than the Dark Lord ever could.

He was more disturbed, however, of the missing Harry Potter. The Dark Lord had told him to come to the castle and find him, or failing that to find out about him, but so far he had heard neither hide nor hair. He had tried following Potter's friends, but they continued to act as normal, although they sometimes disappeared for hours on end. He found that he was unable to follow, and roused hours later feeling confused and muddled. It was impossible that they knew of him, but…

He would be returning to the Dark Lord in a few days, and he needed news to tell. Not only had he been injured carelessly, but he had not yet picked up anything worthwhile. Concerning the boy at least. He had discovered plenty from errant students and careless staff members, but he knew it would not placate his master.

"_You deserve this pain Wormtail…_"

Yes, he supposed he did. He wondered occasionally if this developing masochism would be the end of him. But then again, he didn't physically enjoy pain. It soothed him mentally, and stopped the memories from whirring to the surface. It saved him from the dreams where he would be on his knees on the grass before Godric's Hollow, seeing the twin expressions of shock and disgust flit across his friend's faces. No, it wouldn't end him. If anything, it helped him live.

Lucius took another absentminded sip of his brandy and examined the scattered sheets before him. So many accounts and myths – as many as he could get, but no concrete evidence, nor anything to give him even the slightest foothold. The Dark Lord would not be pleased.

It was tasks like these that intrigued him, no matter the punishment that lay in store. They tested his intelligence, if not his creativity. He had other things for that.

Before him he probably had the most complete set of information on Medusa's Seal that had ever been compiled, but within lay nothing for him to use as a lead. The body of the once beautiful woman, who had been turned into a disk as golden as the sun by a pitying whim of Helios. It was the kind of treasure that would have called to him, had it not already been desired by his master. Over the centuries, his family had collected a mass of trophies that now adorned the walls or hidden chambers within them. There were no shortage of these either.

In times like now, when the weight of the day hung upon him and he stared into his own reflection mirrored in the glass, he would fantasise a use of them. He knew with an absolute surety that a day would come, soon, when the Dark Lord captured Potter, and just as surely as he knew that, he knew that he would have a chance for revenge.


	72. The Chamber of Secrets

--

Hogwarts was still dark. It seemed that even when he left the school the dreams persisted, and Harry had been woken with a gasp tearing from his throat at half past three in the morning. He hadn't appreciated it, but he knew from experience that protesting was futile, as was sleep. Instead, he had decided to remedy the want for Basilisk parts whilst the school was still quiet.

He could have Faded there, but there was some part of him that wanted to savour the moment. The castle clung dark around him, and he remembered the many times that he had been caught wandering on nights just like this. The air was soft and sweet, and it smelt of summer. He was half tempted to go for a swim like on that night with Ron, when daring the school rules they had dashed down to the lake and dropped into the cold water. Harry could remember it folding around his skin like silk, the softest thing he'd felt.

There was something desirable about reminiscing over his time here. He knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be returning as a student, and the thought didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. After all, he had insurmountable quantities of magic as his disposal, an Apprenticeship and four of the most knowledgeable beings in the current wizarding world that were quite happy to instruct him. Besides, who would deny 'Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One', a job? After he'd cleared his name, that is.

The whole situation was really getting out of hand. The more he ignored it, the bigger it grew, like a pile of dishes to wash, but he couldn't for the life of him think of an appropriate way to untangle the mess. Well, he could, but dropping Voldemort off at the Ministry on his knees and begging for his life just wasn't going to happen to him anytime soon. Well, a boy could dream. There should have been something profoundly disturbing that he thought about killing the man more than he thought about sex, but he just couldn't bring himself to mind whilst his mind was still fogged with sleep.

He knew, because his senses told him so, that his path to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was clear and empty. Even the portraits were asleep, and even those that were awake wouldn't spot him.

He climbed a staircase, and a shiver from the castle alerted him to its watchfulness. It would keep the path open, and he was thankful for it.

Glancing down at the already dizzying drop, he wondered how it was that there were only a scant handful of recorded accidents in school history. Nobody had ever fallen off the steps as they moved.

With a shrug, he continued on, stepping onto the second floor with a sense of purpose. There was a feeling of resolution that had become apparent in the front of his mind, and he barely paused to wonder just _why_. It was obvious that something would finish itself, resolve and make itself known tonight – _this morning_, he corrected – but he was unsure as to what.

Moaning Myrtle was surprisingly quiet, but the telltale puddles on the floor showed that she'd flooded the bathroom once more. Harry picked his way into the high, empty room, taking in the familiar scents of mildew and damp, with the faint dripping of water in the distance that drew Harry like a moth to flame.

There, and he was following, drifting gently down the isle of stalls in various states of disuse, padding through the light covering of water that rose a few inches from the floor. He didn't notice the trails of rippling footprints he left behind him, nor the slight stirring of sediment from the years of dirt left by students who had hidden here from Filch.

Drip, drip.

The sound reverberated around the room, shattering the silence like a gong, but to Harry it seemed to come from far away, so very far away, and it drew him inexorably on. He reached the sinks, and they sank and parted leaving the now familiar hole that faded into intense blackness below.

Drip.

He dropped into it without a thought, and he heard the entrance close behind him, leaving him to fall in blackness. It seemed like an eternity before he struck the downward slope of the pipe, but when he did he could feel the years of dirt and slime slide up in ripples as he skidded down it. There were another endless set of twists and turns, but each one seemed to rob him of some higher level of consciousness, until his feet his the skeletons that covered the floor with a loud _crunch._ His awareness had been stripped just as effectively as he had removed the grime from the pipe.

He stumbled, staying on his feet this time, and then stopped to listen. _There_. The sound again, in the distance. He stumbled onwards, stepping out of the circular ending to the pipe and onto hard rock.

Pebbles and stone struck his feet, and his skin was nicked by various sharp edges. He was moving blind, hands fumbling in the dark for some field of reference to steady himself, bring himself _back_ to himself.

Drip.

His palm closed over a jagged spar of rock, and he used it to navigate, growing slowly more confident. He stubbed his toes several times, until he realised that his feet were bare.

How had that happened? Had he forgotten to put his shoes on when he left the Tower? Or his invisibility cloak for that matter, he'd forgotten that too. But then, he hadn't come from the Gryffindor Tower had he? No, he'd been intending to come here, and he didn't need a cloak to become invisible.

He shivered as he spotted a large, many-legged shape near him and hurried on.

He tripped, and his hand fell from the wall. He thought he was going to tumble headfirst into the rocky, uneven floor, but his hand stopped, pressed onto a familiar, smooth stone.

A chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with his bare feet. This was all too similar, too familiar. He reached out in his mind to find it, to follow the thread of knowledge but he found himself blocked again, by an untouchable barrier that kept him from the truth. He _knew_ he'd been here before, and he knew now that he'd dreamt it. He'd based his mindscape on it.

But he didn't understand _why_.

Still, logic was stripped away from him again with the next echo, and Harry felt a distant panic begin in his mind before it was stifled by an enveloping curtain of cold. It cocooned him as it always did, and he was safe and secure and chilled to the bone, to the quick of his matter. Soothed beyond measure, and it didn't matter that this was like another glorious dream because he'd pressed a hand to the rock and it had _yielded_ under his palm.

He pushed forwards, stone closing around him just as silkily as the water on that terribly exciting and daring night they'd stolen down to the lake, the air still heavy with the heat of the day. He thought for a moment that he would die, trapped in the rock and cushioned by cold, but then his fingers broke into the air once more and then his arm, moving inexorably slowly until his lips and nose pierced the surface and he felt fresh air once more.

He waited until his chest was free before drawing in heavy, unsteady breaths. When he'd caught his breath, he stumbled forwards. His feet knew where to go, even if his mind was still caught in a haze of cold. His breath crystallised with ice before he even exhaled.

There were twists and turns, and he left the main tunnel with its sloping roof into smaller, darker corridors that were so hauntingly reminiscent of the inside of his own head, only they were covered with a patina of sensation, the moisture that had condensed on the rock, the sounds in the distance, the smell of damp that simply spoke of reality in volumes. The place was _real_, and he could feel it in every pore of his body.

He felt a soft huff of air escape his mouth and ghost over his lips that came out as more of a gasp as he stepped over the threshold where he knew there should have been something, something to stop him moving and prevent him from seeing what was beyond, but instead there was merely empty space, and his body moved of its own volition into the chamber beyond.

It had changed. He noticed that even though his chilled brain, still fogged with nothingness. Where there had been wide statues of snake heads an columns befitting the grandeur of Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, there was instead an emptiness. There were columns, but they looked to be immense stalactites that had formed over a millennia, stretching down from the rocky ceiling that towered overhead to join those stretching up from the floor to join them, as if the cavern itself had stone teeth.

There were many of these, scattered around in no particular order, but growing out of the floor, glittering as if with the spittle of whatever creature's mouth he now found himself it. A gigantic black maw that was prepared to swallow him whole and he'd never see the light of day again.

To his right a glimmer caught his eye, and he turned to see a pool that stretched into a crevasse of the rock, large, but not very. Harry walked to its side, staring downwards to see that it stretched deep into the ground, the aquamarine water taking on a strange glow that lit up the tunnel that bent and stretched away onto some other part of the caverns.

To the right, he saw a dark shadow that he recognised as the corpse of the last basilisk to inhabit the place, but Harry felt himself drawn away, his attention sapped.

The centre piece of his last visit, the statue of Salazar Slytherin with all the glory of a bearded and benevolent god, from whose mouth came a serpentine tongue that killed at a glance – gone. There wasn't so much as a sign that there had ever been a statue, for although the cavern was elongated the stalactite columns prevented anything so large being there.

Instead, there was a large slab of rock that jutted out as a ledge from the far wall, bigger and higher than Harry would be able to reach. He imagined that he might be able to climb the lower edge, just barely, where it sloped towards the ground. The rock glowed with a pale light, like moonlight, and as Harry drew closer he saw that there were tiny fragments of other rocks inside it that glimmered with the same light that flickered off the calcified columns.

In retrospect, he realised that he should have felt some horror, some distant, muted, primal fear as bulky coils stirred from their resting place on top of the rock, and what he had taken as stone had in fact been a dark, sinuous body, but instead he simply watched, utterly transfixed, not a thought in the sea of calm that inhabited his head.

The creature raised itself up, slowly, the crest of its head appearing first, then sloped forehead, and then…immense black eyes that stared at him with a freezing gaze, reflecting only the merest specks of light on their glistening surface.

Bonelessly, Harry collapsed.

The first thing that occurred to him was that he had died. He'd been buried in a sea of blackness so similar to the Void that he expected to be lost, but no, if he were in the Void then he would be unable to remember who he was, and he knew that somewhere in his psyche it was buried, safe.

He raised his head, and met glistening black orbs.

Bonelessly, Harry collapsed.

It seemed that each time he had thought he was dead was merely a reflection of another, and he was travelling through an endless field of the same actions, repeated over and over until he was unable to remember what was reality and what was the inside of his head.

In each reflection, he came closer to seeing an image of himself instead of a speck of light in those eyes, until he could watch himself collapse and then wake, collapse and wake, continuing on for an eternity. He wondered if he had been trapped in his own reflection, a reflection of the Chamber, which was a reflection of his mind, which was a reflection of the reflection of his mind…

His image became clearer, until he saw himself fully, the person before him taking up his whole sight and so he couldn't faint from the basilisk's gaze, because he was looking at himself.

He knew without a doubt that he'd reached the end of his reflections.

"We thought it would be best if you saw yourself, you know," his reflection told him conversationally. Harry tried to stumble to his feet, but he found he was already standing. He hadn't fallen yet.

"We?" he asked weakly. The other Harry nodded, and he noticed that his eyes were black, like the basilisk's.

"Salazar, and the king of serpents," he clarified, running a hand through his hair. "So we used one of your reflections. You know," he said, gesturing carelessly, "a bit of your subconscious."

"When…" Harry trailed off, grasping at straws to understand this. "When you use Leglimency on the person inside their mind…and you get…"

"Reflections," the other Harry finished. "Yes. Salazar converted me. You lose a little bit of your subconscious, but I'm so inconsequential that it won't really matter."

Harry nodded, struck dumb. The reflection sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. Harry noticed that he somehow managed to do it so that the mop covering his scar remained generally undisturbed, and wondered when he'd perfected the technique.

"Right," his reflection said. "Right. Ah, hell, how am I meant to explain all this? Never mind," it said, catching sight of Harry opening his mouth to reply. "Rhetorical question. This is going to be difficult, and you're not going to like all of it. I know I didn't."

Harry blinked. This had to be the one of the oddest experiences of his life.

"I know, tell me about it. Well, this is your one and only chance to interact with your subconscious face to face. If you want to know the answers for inexplicable questions, ask them now," it joked. "Of course, I am the deepest level, so I don't actually know many of the answers."

"Right," it repeated. "Where to begin? Well, I suppose at the beginning. Do you want the beginning of the summer or several thousand years ago?" it asked.

Harry opened his mouth and made a nonsensical croak.

"Right, the summer," the reflection said. "The dreams. Merlin, you can bet they were annoying. Just kept slipping away like sand, didn't they? Well, now you get the answer. The basilisk sent the dreams. Yes, I know, you killed the basilisk, but as much as I hate to state the obvious, there's more than one. In fact," it said with a slight smile, "there have been three."

"The first was Salazar Slytherin's. It was the oldest and greatest of us, one of the ancients. The first basilisks came into being when Medusa, a woman of astounding beauty, was raped in the temple of Athene. Athene was furious that her beauty had incited such defilement, and so she cursed her with the hair of snakes and a killing gaze. Medusa fled, but she discovered two like her, and they became sisters by blood, magic and soul. They shared great happiness together."

"Stheno and Euryale were immortals however, and Medusa was not. Perseus beheaded her, and in carrying her killing head away, several of the snakes fell loose. They scattered, and as he carried the head those that could escape fell across the earth. They were the ancients, the pure basilisks, called the Basiliskos. They grew to immense proportions, feeding off the natural magic that surrounded them, and gracing only those who were worthy, in a similar manner to phoenixes. Your beloved headmaster was blessed with the company of the phoenix, not because he is pure at heart but because the creature saw enough of itself in him, enough compatibility with the headmaster that it would be able to trust and form a bond, living in happiness and companionship."

"The ancients were different to their mistress Medusa, for their eyes wouldn't kill their bonded. Their gaze was deadly, yes, but Athene had not lain the curse without relief. The curse meant death to all who were not compatible, to all those who had not found a place in Medusa's heart. Of course, she found increasingly that she could not love, since each mortal she met, she killed. Athene had laid the curse in such a manner that it was not a simply quest to find her 'true love', because at that point there would be no love in her heart for him," his reflection said with a wry smile.

"However, with the encouragement of her sisters she travelled, and despite the odds she did manage to find her a lover. They copulated, and she was with child," his other self finished. Harry's eyes bugged out. It was just too weird to hear himself say 'copulated'. "She left for fear of killing him at a chance gaze, carrying the infants Pegasus and Chrysaor in her belly, because she did not know of the condition in Athene's spell."

"Now, how does this translate to the Basiliskos?" his double asked. "Well they have a rare ability to bond with one person and one only, rendering them faultlessly faithful. They, of course, don't have to find and fall in love with their bonded, they just know. Their gaze doesn't kill the bonded but it has other effects, which we'll talk about later."

"Me?" Harry rasped. "It's…bonded with me?"

His reflection wagged a finger at him. "Ha, slow down love," he said, and Harry choked. "I'm getting to that."

"Did you just call me 'love'?" he asked, incredulous. His reflection shrugged.

"Of course," it replied. "You _do_ love yourself you know. In fact, with all this pent up sexual tension there are a _lot_ more interesting things we could be doing than talking, but you know, duty calls."

Harry really did choke this time. "Oh god. Tell me I did not just come on to myself," he groaned, burying his head in his hands. "Too surreal. Too surreal!"

"It's not that bad. Think about it," his double proposed. "Technically it's not weird at all. Self-pleasure, right? That's not frowned upon…although I wonder if those Muggle lessons about doing it to much and blindness have a counterpart in Wizarding culture." It shrugged again and continued, oblivious to Harry's shell-shocked stare. "Well, anyway, we'd both be satisfied."

"I can't…I can't believe you…_I_…just said that," Harry mumbled.

"Hey, I'm _your_ subconscious. If your subconscious wants to have sex, then I want to have sex. Not my problem," it told him. "You are a teenage boy after all."

"You're a boy," Harry said, throwing it out as his last attempt at logical protest. Harry was beginning to become very annoyed with that shrug his reflection kept doing.

"I've gone over this, you know," it said, raising a brow. "Technically its you, so there shouldn't be a problem with that. But if you want to have a talk about your sexuality, I'm all ears," he said with a wicked grin. Harry groaned.

"Just get on with the fucking story," he muttered.

"Since you asked so nicely," his other self replied. "So, where was I? Salazar Slytherin's Basiliskos was one of the ancients. Now, they could have children, but the blood and the magic diluted occasionally. Two serpents were born and survived from his, one a diluted, weaker basilisk, which is closer to the modern day version of the basilisk. They still grow to massive proportions, but they are not as powerful, and they don't bond in the same way. Now this, being only a second-generation basilisk, still bonded, and there was still a great amount of power there, but in a fight with an ancient it would eventually lose."

"Now Salazar realised this, and this basilisk became the first to rise, binding to Tom Riddle, who you know better as Voldemort, or He-Who-Doesn't-Fucking-Die," his counterpart grinned. "I was pretty pleased to hear that too. His own ancestor gave him the weaker deal. Now, Salazar's Basiliskos had died in his final battle, but he had made precautions and cast many spells over the Chamber of Secrets."

His reflection paused and looked at him with a sly smile. "See how it's the Chamber of Secrets, plural? You stumbled on just a fraction of them when you first came down here."

"Anyway, the basilisk young, one stronger and one weaker, were set in stasis, to rise according to their calling. Now, here is where it gets complicated," the other Harry told him. "We have to go back a thousand years and look at why Salazar did this."

Harry nodded slowly. "I think I'm following."

"Damn well better be," his reflection told him, "because I'm not repeating this. Right, Salazar told you a bit about his childhood didn't he? But he didn't tell you why he bears such a hatred for Rowena." Harry shook his head. "You remember, his sisters and family were slaughtered by one of his father's rivals?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said, but he had a sick feeling growing in his stomach.

"When they visited the north of the country and Rowena told her father of Salazar's name, it sparked a memory of a man who had fought and won against him, before fleeing for his life. It brought back old vendettas, and her father left to the isle to slaughter Salazar's father, one of the few who'd fought him and left to live his life," his reflection said.

"When Salazar was travelling, the weak Soul Bonds with his sisters were broken and he was alone. His vow was to kill the man who had destroyed his life. He found him, and kept him for a month of torture before dispatching his life," it said, voice turned icy. "Rowena, when she discovered what he had done vowed vengeance. They became enemies, and later lovers, with the premise that it was to get close enough to murder one another." It shrugged. "Don't ask me about that. I'm still not too sure where the logic came from, and I'm not sure I want to know. Safe to say, they were beloved enemies."

Harry felt as if his heart had risen up to his neck to cut of his air supply. "Fated then," he breathed roughly. His reflection met his eyes with its black ones.

"Like you and him, although I can't imagine us and Voldemort getting cuddly," he said with a humourless grin. "It hurts too damn much when he lays a finger on us, let alone anything more."

Despite himself, Harry grinned. He could agree with that. "There you go with the men again."

His counterpart shrugged again. "Maybe Ginny's getting to you. I don't know the details Harry, I only get ideas. However," he said, refocusing, "they realised eventually that neither would win, and they chose to engineer heirs who might continue their battle for them. Their hatred was so great, you see," he explained.

"And now, you become the bearer of another prophecy."

Harry's mind was reeling. How could be possibly absorb all of this. Two prophecies? Heirs? But he wasn't Salazar's heir, no, that was Voldemort. How could…?

"What?" he croaked. His counterpart sighed.

"Nothing's simple with us is it? See, there are even more complications. You're made practically immortal by dint of one prophecy, that instead of prophesising your death it grants you eternal life, and another…ah, this is far more tricky."

Harry took several deep, calming breaths before looking up.

"Right, tell me what it is," he said quietly, meeting black, unreadable eyes.

"_Heir through enemy against heir through prophecy,_" he recited softly, _"born first of magic and second of blood, equal in learning and equal in cause, marked by poison and marked by fire, they will wage a war and resolve the battles of the snake and the eagle, one emerging triumphant, whilst the other dissolves into shadow._"

Harry took a gasp of breath into his lungs. He was immortal, but he was going to die. Or he'd triumph, whispered a sibilant little voice in his skull.

"Who…who is the other heir?" he asked, the sinking feeling only growing stronger as he thought.

The reflection raised a hand. "Now wait, we haven't got there yet," he said. "Salazar and Rowena joined, co-operating with a great seer to engineer and force a prophecy of their choice. It took them their remaining years, but they made their terms and induced it using the seer. It was their life's work, and no one has been able to recreate the effect. In the end, you see, their hatred made them so intimately entwined that they managed to alter the future path."

"But…but I-" Harry was cut off, as if his reflection hadn't even heard him.

"Now, Rowena died, relying on her portrait to find and guide her heir, because one of the clauses in the spells and rituals they did was to ensure that their heirs came through Hogwarts, as was only fitting. It would help them to locate them faster, after all. Each chose a means to identify their heir. Rowena chose a name, and Salazar chose a mark, the mark that is mentioned in the prophecy. The mark of poison."

Things were coming flooding back now. The scene in Dumbledore's office, with Fawkes, the first time he had met Salazar and his words _"I was unaware that I had an heir by blood"_. An evasion tactic, he saw now, but why?

"But Salazar," his reflection said, eyes shining with a strange glint, "Salazar was more cunning. He had his portrait, but he needed something more, something better. He would not leave only a fragment of his soul to guide his heir, for how would he interact? How would he teach and influence? Oh yes Harry, we've been changed more than either of us realise."

Something in Harry's gut twisted with painful betrayal. So he was a tool, yet again. Not only a tool, but a tool for revenge.

"I thought so too," his counterpart replied casually to his unspoken thoughts. "But you should be able to feel it here," he tapped his chest, just above the heart, "he cares about you. You had an effect on him that he wasn't planning, and he did not enter into an Apprentice Bond lightly. You might not have noticed, but he included modifications that could have cost him more than his revenge to get wrong."

His double raised a hand, and an image of the ritual patterns appeared. There was the same swirling circle, and in the middle…

"'Ambition leads to immortality'," Harry read. "But does that…?"

"Think," his reflection said. "Salazar's ambition was to become a ghost in order to give his heir a chance to live. Voldemort's ambition is to become immortal. Your ambition is to survive. Combine the three, and you have immortality. Salazar's purpose is you – he survives as long as you do. Your purpose is to survive, but to do that you become tied up with Voldemort. Because of his ambition to become immortal, he is less than alive, granting him and you that wish, as long as you don't kill each other."

Harry just stared. "But you said…how did he change the ritual?"

His reflection raised a brow. "I would have thought it was obvious, but then again, I have had it all explained nicely to me." He ran a hand through his hair again, appearing to be deciding how to phrase things. "You thought that ghosts could always bond to pupils? Wrong. He altered it, referring to the motto, 'Ambition leads to immortality'," he repeated. "So that was added in, and it drew it all together like a binding string. He wanted you to live. He wanted to live. Voldemort wanted to live. He, in effect, altered the binding ritual to allow all of that to occur simultaneously using him as a conduit."

Harry's skull felt like it was about to burst from the flurry of information. "I don't understand."

His companion sighed. "You three are joined like peas in a pod. Both heirs, and in effect the head of the family. It's his duty to bring everything together, and he did. There is only one task that remains to complete the bonds between the three of you, and it will secure the fate set out for you."

"Head of the family?" Harry asked, latching onto the one thing he could understand properly.

"Oh, you did wonder why Dumbledore wouldn't tell you, didn't you?" his counterpart asked with an almost vicious smirk. "Right under your nose the whole time. You even read it in a book. If there is no available head of the family, a ghost can fill the position."

"But how can that happen?" Harry shouted. "I'm not even related!"

"You are now," his counterpart pointed out. "Remember, there are two types of family bond? Blood and magic. You are the 'heir through enemy'. Your closest magical bond is with Voldemort, and it bypasses him because of his harmful wishes, to Salazar. Of course, he doesn't want to kill you any longer, but Salazar bound you to him to be sure that nothing would get in the way."

"The Apprentice Bonds," whispered Harry weakly, pieces starting to slot into place.

"Yep. So now you have family," his reflection told him, leaving a moment to let that sink in. "What we always wanted, wasn't it?" he said, a little bitterly.

Salazar, as family. And by extension Voldemort too. It was too strange to think about, but then, hadn't Salazar been filling a role like that? It wasn't exactly paternal, in fact, mentor still seemed the best description, but Harry was close to him. Closer than he'd been to any adult, even Sirius.

"I…I don't know what to think," Harry mumbled.

"Don't then," his other self countered.

"Right," Harry said trying to clear his mind. "What about the basilisks?"

"Ah, my favourite bit," his reflection said with a grin. "Now Salazar is a canny fellow, and he guessed that he'd have at least one of each heir worthy of the basilisks. He knew, or theorised that you would be a magical one, and so he left two basilisks in the chamber. If you were the magical heir, then you would be a parselmouth. It was one of his stipulations in the clauses. The weaker basilisk he tried to make sure went for the blood heir, because you see, in the wizarding world magic is even more powerful than blood. Squibs are worse than mudbloods, you know."

His other self grinned viciously. "So dear old Tom Riddle got the weaker deal, and since that happened neither of them bound properly. I still have no idea why he left it here either. Salazar does, but he isn't talking. You however, got the strong one. The full-blooded descendant of the Basiliskos. That's why the colouring is different, because as their blood becomes dilute they lighten, see?"

Harry frowned. "How can two of the Basiliskos produce a kid of diluted blood?" he asked. His counterpart shrugged.

"Beats me. It's something about the deterioration of magic. Salazar explained it to me, but it was wordy and confusing, so I didn't quite grasp it all. Anyway, getting back on track again, the dreams were sent when the basilisk became aware of the bond and awakened from the stasis. They were meant to bring you to Hogwarts, and then to the Chamber of Secrets. Now, that is a normal power of the basilisk to draw its bonded closer, but there was a problem. See, basilisks drain magic in order to grow."

Harry's eyes widened in realisation. "That was what was draining the castle wards!" he exclaimed.

"Got it in one," his reflection told him. "Normally they're roaming the land so the drain isn't too big, but…" he paused, looking at Harry's face. "Oh come on, you didn't think they'd survive several hundred years by eating rats did you? They live off magic. That's what makes them so potent. Anyway, this one's been growing at an alarming rate, because being a full-blooded basilisk it has a higher capacity for storage, and the castle was so conveniently _brimming_ with magic."

"The wards," Harry said. "The Magicus Potentia…"

"Oh yeah," he said. "Your new pet got a great boost from the old man. Bet they couldn't figure out what was draining him at all, and nothing can break a basilisk hold like that other than their bonded. You did, after all," he remarked. "But it severely drained the old man's magical core, and he's never going to have the power like he did. Your basilisk on the other hand, grew a good deal more. Of course, there were things that would kill it…"

"What?" Harry asked, confused. "It's a bloody basilisk! How can something kill it?"

"Other than you, that is," his other self chuckled. "Ah, love, think back," his reflection said, and Harry shuddered at the endearment again. "Capable of living many centuries, giant serpent, spiders flee before it…"

"Spiders?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Natural enemies," his other self said. "'Course, when there's a big fucking snake roused from its sleep and roaming the castle again, they bugger off into the forest. But when there's a nice, weak young one…well, they come swarming back to kill it before it has the chance to get grow. So, the basilisk has a two-fold defence and feeding. It absorbs magic and grows stronger…" he trailed off, looking at Harry expectantly.

"And it freezes them," he whispered, thinking back to the many-legged shape as he'd come down the tunnel.

"Bingo," his other self said.

"But why…my dreams," he paused, formulating his thoughts. "Why is my mindscape like this? And Voldemort's…Voldemort's was _his_ Chamber of Secrets!"

"Exactly," his counterpart said. "You've stumbled on another of the 'Secrets'. Salazar wasn't just a dastardly bastard who poisoned people he didn't like, oh no. He was a master at whatever he set his mind to. When building the Chamber, he used Spell Fastening to lace in the enchantments to work with each basilisk. The basilisk would send dreams based on the ideal of what the cave should look like to suit both them and their bonded, and it would take on that shape, whilst the dreams did the job of putting it into the bonded's head. He altered the enchantments a little so that they placed a block to stop the bonded from discovering what was happening too soon, and possibly just freaking out and leaving before they had a chance to complete the bonds properly."

"Okay," Harry breathed. "So let me get this straight. There was a prophecy that Salazar and…Rowena engineered a thousand years ago that will resolve _their_ conflict, and Salazar decided to give his heirs a heritage and advantage, and stay after death to instruct them. Then I've got this…this other prophecy that makes me practically immortal, and yet I still could die from the first prophecy?"

His other self shrugged. Harry was _really_ learning to hate that gesture. "Yep. That's about it. Salazar wants to give you an advantage, because if you win against Rowena's heir then your achieve immortality, but if you lose, then you take the three of your family down with you."

Harry found himself struggling. "Who…who is it?"

His counterpart opened his mouth, but Harry could already tell what he was going to say with a horrible clarity. "Well, 'marked by fire' isn't too obscure, is it? And Rowena did specify a name."

His other self turned to him with a very un-Harry like smile. "If you want to live, and I know you do, you'll kill Ginny Weasley."


	73. Time Out From The World

--

Helena reluctantly folded her paper, crossword puzzle now complete, and set about shutting down the store. Truly, it had been too good to be true. She wondered, with a pang in her chest, why Tom hadn't come today. He'd said he would, promised even, but there was nothing. She hoped that he was all right, and hoped even more that it hadn't been some terrible practical joke.

With a flick of her wand, the spells locked down around the shop and the windows darkened. The clothes that had been on display pulled themselves back into the cupboards or folded themselves away. With the last incantation, she crossed the bolt in the door onto the street and headed upstairs.

She'd owl him, perhaps.

"No," Harry whispered. "No, no, no."

"Yes, yes, yes," his doppelganger replied. "You want to live, it's built into you."

Harry shook his head mutely, unable to comprehend what was happening.

"Or too able to comprehend it," his double continued his thought process. Harry groaned.

"Shut up. Just shut up," he ground out. "I'm not going to do it. I won't kill her, not when it means that Voldemort's alive. It wouldn't be worth it."

His reflection rolled its eyes. "Moan, moan, angst, angst," it jeered. "My life is too bad to comprehend, I've been so mistreated. Well, yeah, we have. But you letting her kill you isn't going to work out anything. You're the weaker link in the trio, and if you don't kill her then one of the others will. It doesn't specify, only that one of you will die."

"It doesn't mean one has to die," he denied. "One triumphs, the other 'dissolves into shadow'. That could mean anything."

His double sighed and raised a hand to bat his suggestions away. "It a reference, deary. You think that Rowena and Salazar haven't thought this over for a millennia, trying to divine everything from it? One of their clauses in the ritual was that one of you had to die, but they didn't put in all that 'by the hand of the other' crap because they saw that it could backfire. Which," he said, looking pointedly at Harry, "you are living proof of. The line 'dissolves into shadow' refers to the incantations said at the burials in their day. 'May the light throw darkness so that you may dissolve into shadow'," he quoted. "It's what you say to supposedly allow the spirit of the dead person to leave."

Catching sight of Harry's sceptical stare, his double rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. It sounds like a load of rubbish, but they were pretty savage in those days. Research into ghosts, spirits and souls, true research that is, only came later."

"I'm still not going to kill her," he denied. His reflection ran a frustrated hand through its hair.

"Look, you don't really have a choice. Have you noticed the wording? Everything that refers to you is first, and everything that refers to her is second, which gives a pretty good indication to the end lines 'one emerging triumphant, whilst the other dissolves into shadow', doesn't it?"

"F-fuck you," Harry bit out. "I'm not killing anyone."

His doppelganger sighed, shaking his head with a disappointed air. "You don't have to, not actively. Haven't you been listening to anything I've said? Obviously everyone is going to give you two the first blows, but then it's game for everyone. How do you know her family won't kill you just to make sure their little girl lives?" it sneered.

"No…no wait," Harry said, thinking furiously. "I've dissolved into shadow. I already have. The shadow…it was there!"

His other self raised a brow. "Technically, the shadow dissolved into you."

"Salazar left that book there on purpose, didn't he?" Harry growled. "To get Ginny, not me at all. Not Rowena either."

His double laughed. "You're catching on. But think about it this way, Salazar has had a thousand years to plan his revenge from every angle. Voldemort has his own will for eternal life to drive him. And you have…what? A willingness to die for your friend. You're outmatched. We both are. We can't compare with that level of experience. Voldemort's pushing seventy, isn't he? And Salazar has a millennia behind him…"

"Fuck," said Harry softly, feeling his eyes growing wet.

"You're screwed if you pick that path. You're both loved and necessary, but Voldemort won't hesitate to use you, and Salazar, even though he cares, will not sacrifice your life, and therefore the continued existence of himself and his other heir. Life's like that."

"I could run," Harry said weakly, grasping at ideas. His other self chuckled mirthlessly.

"But you can't hide."

Salazar paced. The beautiful surroundings of the cavern did nothing to set him at rest. He was worried, couldn't help being so with Harry lying there on the floor beside him. He'd seen the same thing with Tom, but it hadn't meant as much. He'd known at the time, of course, that he wasn't the one he had been waiting for, but there had been hope for him and he'd had a self-imposed duty to aid his family after all. Who could have known that it would come to such a tangled mess?

"_He is resolving his internal conflicts,_" came a sibilant his from beside him, and Salazar very pointedly did not turn his head to meet those black eyes, as much as it tempted him. It was at times like these that he missed his own Basiliskos, but she wasn't returning to him. Hadn't been with him for centuries.

"_You pine after your companion,_" the basilisk noted. Salazar cursed their ability to sense his emotions, even after years of practised seclusion.

"_I always do,"_ he murmured.

"_You should have died with her."_

Salazar pushed back the melancholy that threatened him. "_Part of me did. Do not lose your bonded, young one._"

The basilisk remained silent rather than retorting as he had thought it might, and not for the first time he wondered just what part of Harry it represented. Harry would have had a sharp retort at hand if he were in his companion's place.

"_How did she die?"_ the snake asked, and Salazar knew that it wasn't referring to his companion but to the corpse of the last resident of the cavern.

"_My little one killed her,"_ he replied shortly. The basilisk seemed to absorb this.

"_Then perhaps she deserved to die. She was the weaker, after all,"_ it said finally. Salazar felt a smile cross his face at this brutal statement.

"_Indeed. Both weaker and swayed to his enemy's side. It was her time to die,"_ he said. "_Perhaps you will fare better,"_ he added, throwing a little spite into the words.

"_Perhaps,"_ was his only reply.

Salazar didn't make a move to continue the conversation, instead casting another glance over to Harry, even though he needn't do so. He heard the subtle sigh of breath increase, and then with a gasp the boy was awaking. Salazar moved gracefully towards him and lay a hand on his shoulder. It was icy, of course, but it gave him a perverse kind of pleasure to create such discomfort with a mere touch.

"Don't…" he shuddered. "Don't touch me…"

Salazar ignored him, reaching down easily and drawing the boy into his arms. For a moment he clawed against him, to no avail; ghosts don't have muscles or strength to tap after all, before falling slack. Salazar could feel warm tears land on his arms and freeze, again lending him a strange sense of satisfaction. He may not like it, but at least he knew that he was _his_ now.

_Forevermore,_ he added silently.

Severus was ready to abandon the classroom when Potter appeared in the middle of the floor, looking drawn and hollow eyed. He would have said he'd been crying, but he couldn't be sure. His eyes were red, but they seemed too blank at the moment to have tears fall from them.

A parcel was dropped onto the table.

"Basilisk meat," the boy said, and Severus could see very clearly that he was a boy at this moment.

"Timely as always," he sneered, layering on the disdain. "It seems the great Harry Potter thinks it beneath him to-"

"Not tonight Snape," the boy cut him off. "Here's your pound of flesh, for what its worth, but we'll have our lesson another night."

"Wait," Severus snapped, just a hint of desperation edging into the command. Potter turned and watched him impassively.

"Yes?" There was a pause whilst Severus tried to formulate his thoughts and then a soft "oh." Severus bit back his rising anger that the boy had picked up his memories. He couldn't fault him after all; he'd been doing it to students for years.

"Yes 'oh'," he snapped as compensation. "I was not informed of the Azkaban attack, and unless there is concrete evidence that I can use, I will most likely be," he paused, almost stumbling over the word and hating himself for it, "killed."

Potter seemed to think about that, staring at him steadily with those strange blank eyes. Severus resisted a shudder at the unnerving gaze.

"I'll get into his mind and tell the Order about a mission," he said at length, and Severus felt his eyes widen. "You won't even have to fake ignorance."

"The Dark Lord's _mind_?" he burst out finally, unable to restrain himself. "Are you mad Potter? Do you want to alert him to what you are doing? He'll simply crush you between his fingers! You won't stand a chance!"

A ghost of a smile flitted across the boy's face, and he seemed far older for an instant. Severus wondered what had happened to him in between the last time he'd seen the boy. "Worried for me Snape?" he teased, but it didn't have a trace of malice in it, taking Severus rather by surprise.

"It would not do for you to be killed," he admitted rather grudgingly.

The boy shocked him by laughing humourlessly. "Oh, don't have any worries about that. Voldemort won't kill me any longer. He can't. He wouldn't want to risk it. So it looks like I'll have to kill him before she kills me," he said quietly.

The 'she' momentarily threw Severus, but then his eyes narrowed in thought. "And who is this woman who will kill you Potter?"

"There's a prophecy, you see," Potter continued as if he hadn't heard him.

"I know there's a prophecy!" Severus snapped at him. The boy laughed that deadened laugh again, sending chills up his spine.

"You don't know half of the jokes Fate is playing on me," he said. "The infamous Potter luck, after all. Right now…right now I need to go somewhere where no one can possibly locate me and think about things."

Severus felt a growl rise in his throat as he looked at that blank-faced child that was meant to be the hope of the wizarding world. He might as well be a Muggle cardboard cut-out or some flat illusion for all the life he was giving off at the moment.

"You need to find a way to destroy the Dark Lord Potter, not sit around moping," he said tightly, trying to restrain from lashing out.

"You're right, of course," he said, then another bark of laughter escaped his throat. "You're always right."

"Oh for Salazar's sake you idiotic brat!" Severus shouted. "Get yourself out of whatever pit of hell you've decided is your due and shoulder your burdens for once in your miserable life!" The boy's eyes widened, and he stared at Severus with those unnerving green eyes. "In case it has escaped your notice Potter, your continued existence is in direct correlation with the lives of thousands of others, so unless you wish to sully your precious, untouched hands with blood then you will discover a way to end this all!"

He heard Potter breath a soft 'fuck', and then drop his eyes, looking like nothing more than the errant school-boy he had been only months ago. Silence stretched between them, until it was broken by,

"You don't want to die then," he murmured. Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Of course I don't want to die you imbecilic little fool," he snarled, lacing as much of his hatred into the words as he could manage, which proved to be rather a lot. After all… "Yet it looks as if I will despite my wishes. Of course," he added dryly, "he may always keep me for my reports on corrupting you with the Dark Arts."

"And if I have to kill someone to stay alive?" he asked quietly. Severus looked at him in surprise, bordering on incredulity.

"You will murder many people Potter," he said coldly. "It is unavoidable. The Dark Lord is only one of these people."

The boy shifted from foot to foot, and his eyes became a little brighter. "Someone I love?" he continued hoarsely.

Severus' eyes narrowed. "What the devil are you blathering about Potter? Romantic teen romance not good enough for you without a side of tragedy to sample too?"

The boy held his eyes and then looked away suddenly. "It doesn't matter. Do please feel free to disregard everything I've told you so far." The familiar arrogance was back again, the mask pulled over his face. His eyes were alight with their usual life when they opened again, and Snape wondered just what side of the Potter boy he had witnessed.

"Perhaps it is not worth disregarding," Severus said slowly. There had been implications there…he didn't like them in the least. He assumed that Dumbledore had just recently told him of the prophecy, but that didn't seem right, no, something else had happened, something that had unsettled the usually unruffled face of model Gryffindor behaviour.

"Perhaps not," he conceded, looking at him again. "My memory charms aren't practised yet, but maybe sometime in the future…"

"You will not be relieving me of any memories," Severus said dangerously, biting back the cold rage that was pooling in his belly. This sense of helplessness before superior power reminded him too much of Voldemort, too much of Albus, for his liking. He did not enjoy being lied to or threatened, and now all three of them had done so. Still, he was not a Slytherin at heart for nothing. Albus and the Dark Lord were both older and wiser; he had little effect on them other than weakly protesting their orders. Potter still held a respect and a tinge of fear for the man he had appeared to be as a teacher.

Potter chuckled, warmer now. "No, I don't suppose I will. You don't know enough to jeopardise anything anyway. I'll have the information tomorrow, and if not I'll do what I can," he promised. "If it's an Avada Kedavra straight off, well, I'm sorry, but if he wants to play with you then I'll try and put something together."

Snape snorted. "I don't need another life debt Potter. If he chooses to kill me and torture me, then I'm as good as dead with or without your help," he sneered, but it was tempered by the emptiness he could feel growing in his head. Faced with the very real possibility of death, nothing mattered.

"I'll do what I can," the boy repeated, disappearing with the familiar crack of Apparition. The first instance had left him gaping, but he had managed to curb his shock by now. Grumbling, he left the lab and began the trek to his quarters. It was going to be a difficult night to sleep, and not the only one he had spent staring blindly, eyes open at the ceiling.

Harry appeared in Godric's chambers. The walls of water were deep and dark outside, and would have appeared menacing had he spared them a glance. Instead he wound through the corridors and rooms until he reached the last; the chamber filled with exotic treasures. Skirting the many piles of glittering, tinkling trinkets, he made his way to the pile of cushions and flopped down upon them.

He needed time to think.

It was too clearly apparent that he had been royally abused. As he'd left the Chamber of Secrets in a daze, things had begun to slot into place. The things that Salazar had told him, shown him, taught him, they all achieved a warped kind of clarity. It had been so carefully orchestrated, a thousand years before he was even born. He'd never hated the two Founders more than he did now. He loathed Rowena for causing this whole mess. He loathed Salazar for completing it. If only they'd found a way to kill each other in their own lifetime, then he wouldn't be stuck with this.

Balling his fists, he turned the empty picture frame that sat before him to the watery wall. He wasn't in the mood to talk to any of the Founders now, let along Salazar. He'd find him, eventually, but for the moment Harry was content in the knowledge that he would take his time. He knew Harry needed space.

So his fate was decided for him. All he'd been planning, all he was still planning…in vain. But it couldn't be. He wouldn't _let_ it be.

"Fucking hell," he whispered. "I'll find a way."

He pawed at his eyes, swiping away the tears that were threatening to fall. He hadn't cried since Cedric's death. He couldn't kill Ginny. He didn't want her blood on his hands.

She'd been like a lifeline for him through the year. She seemed the perfect balance between the Weasleys. She was witty and smart, with the fabled fiery fury, but she was lighter than her brothers. She could see things Ron couldn't and be serious and comforting, as the twins seemed unable to be. She knew things about the world, but unlike Hermione it seemed _real_, as if she knew them through experience or curiosity instead of absorbing them from books at a mind-blowing rate. She'd kept him together and helped him about. From their first, exhilarating trip into Knockturn Alley over the previous summer, he'd started to love her like a sister. They got along, better than they ever had now that she no longer had a crush on him.

And now he was told he had to kill her, or let someone else kill her.

"I won't fucking stand for it," he whimpered. "I won't let it happen."

But it seemed hopeless, didn't it? His own subconscious had told him that his fighting would be futile. But then, it had been modified by Salazar hadn't it? He couldn't take all it said at face value. Besides, the prophecy was so obscure in so many places that he couldn't simply believe what he had been told. The Founders might have drawn up clauses, but all that was left of them was the prophecy. That was the end result of it all. The bit that truly mattered.

It said that one of them had to die, but Harry remembered the snatches of hospital soap operas that the Dursleys had watched whilst he cooked their dinner, and people had died in them, yet been brought back. How could you classify death? If his heart stopped beating for a moment, would he be called dead? There were definitely Muggle cases of deaths and reanimation, he was sure. If not, he was a potential Soul Mage, wasn't he? Surely if her soul was escaping he could capture it? Put it back?

There were too many possibilities to blindly follow a single opinion, and one thing was becoming increasingly clear to him as he thought. It wasn't him that he had to protect her from, but the people who now appeared to be his family. Salazar, he knew, would do all he could to ensure his heirs' survival. His doppelganger had been right. When he felt for the bond, he could feel love. Or something akin to it. That powerful protective feeling, coupled with possessiveness, care, and something else tangled in between that made it difficult for Harry to even analyse what he could sense through the bond. He might care for him, but it was intimately entwined with something darker, indecipherable, something so reminiscent of Salazar that he had grown used to it, and only this recent revelation brought it all back to him.

The Founder was a Dark sorcerer. He had killed people, murdered them, deceived them and hated them in his lifetime. His only meaningful relationship had been with a woman he loathed so greatly that he had found a whole new way to destroy her, even a thousand years in the future. Harry had seen all this when he first met the man, but in the time spent with him he had grown used to it, accustomed to the occasional dark tint's the man's eyes took on. He'd grown careless, he realised now. If he could go back, he'd turn away from the portrait and lock it up as best he could. He'd find some way to thwart fate.

Salazar was as much a threat as his blood heir, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to hate him as he did Voldemort. Slytherin might have a core of darkness and cruelty, but he had shown only kindness to Harry. He trusted him implicitly, even through the deception. He wondered if this was a side effect of the Apprentice Bonds or himself. After all, he had very few wise mentor figures left. Dumbledore had been one, but he'd chosen the wrong path. Perhaps, he wondered, he simply didn't want to lose another.

Voldemort. It seemed strange to think that in effect they had become akin to brothers. It disturbed him. Horrified him. The monster that had tormented him, tortured him, risen using his blood, and _killed_ was now considered part of this 'family'. It repulsed him. The only good thing so far, he supposed, was that he didn't know it, and it seemed that as yet Salazar had no intention of informing his other heir.

But Voldemort would still try and kill her, he knew. Even if he was no longer aiming to destroy him physically, he knew in his heart that Voldemort had no intention of setting back his plans. He would merely modify them, and Harry would be at his beck and call. Or trapped. Harry knew that there were stasis spells that could hold people in place for thousands of years, and others equally unpleasant. Hadn't Snape reminded them often of the Draught of Living Death? There was no guarantee that he would get to live out his years in peace on some Hawaiian island. No, far more likely was that he would be captured, tortured and kept prisoner. Perhaps there were ways to leech magic from him, to render him incapable. Harry no longer had any doubts as to Voldemort's power. If the little tête-a-tête in the graveyard hadn't been enough, then the raw display of magic when his minions arrived afterwards convinced him. He hadn't even bothered to use wandless magic. He'd been _playing_ with him, limiting himself to a wand, and all the delays associated.

So he'd have to continue as he had, with one more task at hand. He'd build his fortresses and protect the people he needed to, and more. When those he loved were safe, he'd be able to work out a way to kill the one person he truly wanted to. With Voldemort gone, he'd be free. They'd all be free.

Of course, he considered, he might be dead. Somehow he'd find a way to fix that. Perhaps, if he died, he'd be able to give his powers to someone. Maybe that would allow them to stop whatever upheaval came afterwards.

To his list of things to do, he added a visit to his friends. He needed to protect the Weasley home, and he needed to see Sirius and Remus. Once he knew that they were as safe as they could get, he'd be able to start with his plans. After Sunday, a new era would begin. Of course, before that, he'd need to hide the information from Salazar. There had to be a way to keep the ghost from finding his thoughts.

Closing his eyes from the view of the black lake's murky depths, he turned inwards. He'd build a cache of information and memories in one of the walls if he had to.

The little insect he'd been creating was lying just where he'd left it, and he could feel the half-finished 'public' area of his mind off to the left where the tunnels to turned into corridors. Picking up the firefly, he left it floating in the air of the corridor and continued on.

It was dark and damp, and there was a delicate drip in the distance like some horrible parody of the last few hours. He'd spent an entire day lost underground. With a pang he realised that he'd missed his appointment with Helena. He'd need to fix that as soon as possible, perhaps sending her an owl.

It didn't take him long to scour his mind for any give-away memories, but at the last minute he changed his mind about the direction he was heading in. Instead of moving to one of the lesser-used parts of the catacombs, he turned towards the cavern. If his suspicions were correct, then he had the perfect idea.

The cavern was just as it had been in real life, all deep pools and glistening stalactites. At the far end was the pale ledge, and just as he had suspected, coils began to move and a serpentine head was raised to regard him as he approached.

"_Basiliskos, I have memories that you must protect,"_ he said softly.


	74. Clemence Moreau

--

--

The sky bloomed a rosy pink, sun beginning to peek over the horizon. It reflected gently down through the spelled roof, the light landing on Ginny's pale face. She lay on the ground floor of Rowena's chambers, smooth wood under the pads of her hands, looking up at the sky. It was a pose she'd seen Harry adopt many times, and they'd often lain side by side looking up at the enchanted weather.

There was a soft touch on her mind, and she smiled a little, seeing another figure move to lay beside her out of the corner of her eyes. The blurs of colour gave little away, but she caught a flash of black hair and a hint of smoky robes brushed over one hand.

"You haven't visited in the week," she observed. Above her, the sky darkened a little.

"I've been…busy," he replied. Ginny noticed that his voice sounded choked, as if he were trying very hard to push the words out of his throat.

"There's something gone wrong, isn't there?" she said quietly. Harry let out a little bark of laughter that had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with bitterness. Ginny noticed, not for the first time, how close laughter came to sobs, and these sounds were almost indistinguishable.

"Everything's gone wrong," he said softly. "But I promise that whatever happens I'll stand by you and keep you safe. From myself, if I must."

She felt a frown flit across her face, a strange sensation of worry growing in the pit of her belly. The words sent a shiver of foreboding through her. Rowena had been hinting things recently, bad things, and it sent a chill down her spine. There was still so much she didn't know, and at the moment she had a very good idea of who did.

"Tell me," she murmured.

And he did. She could feel it was everything, because he kept speaking and speaking, pouring out a torrent of words that made her feel as if she were being buried beneath them. Prophecy, Fated, kill each other. How they each had a mark. How they were each an heir. Of Rowena's and Salazar's battles and eventual decision, and engineered prophecies, and basilisks. About the true secrets of the Chamber of Secrets, that weren't so much of a secret anymore because she knew, and she wasn't an heir of Slytherin. Every time she thought that was it, he revealed another facet of the problems, promising all the way through that he wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't do it, he'd die for her if he had to, taking the others with him.

"So you're family," she said softly, and Harry made a sound in the back of his throat somewhere between a whimper and a groan.

"Don't say that," he bit out. "Salazar…" he trailed off, gritting his teeth.

Ginny went through the motions of pulling her lips into a smile, even if she didn't feel it at the moment. There was too much weighing down on them to smile with genuine feeling. "Salazar is family," she refined. Harry nodded sadly. "I'm going to come with you."

Harry's eyes widened. "No…n-no. You'll be in danger, they'll…" he stuttered, trailing off again until he was just pleading her with his eyes.

"I'm going to, because you'll teach me how to use my magic," she said, more firmly than she felt inside. "You need someone beside you who isn't Salazar or your pet snakes."

Harry bit his lip, and because it was dry it split. Ginny watched a little drop of blood worm its way through the cracks. "Salazar…he'll try and kill you, you know," he said, pulling her towards him and wrapping his arms around her. She tensed for a moment before settling back against him, clasping one of his hands in hers.

"He won't yet," she denied, but she still felt unsure. "He can't yet. It would be too easy."

Harry laughed that deadened laugh again, and she could feel his chest rattling against her back. "No, he wants me to do it. But I won't. I've protected my plans, and I'll keep them safe from him."

"If you teach me to use my magic properly then I'll learn how to fight. I'll be able to protect myself, and it won't be as simple as just possessing someone and making them do it," she said quietly.

Harry's chin came to rest on the top of her head, and he threaded their fingers together. "You're more family than Salazar is, Merry. We'll live through this. Promise." Ginny quirked her mouth up a little at the use of their invented names.

"Promise," she repeated. "I'll protect you too, you know. You can't beat them without help."

He inhaled sharply, and after holding his breath for a moment let it out in a rush. "I suppose not. Part of me just wants to…I don't know. Lock you all away and go to destroy Voldemort myself."

"Part of me wants to let you," Ginny admitted wearily. "But then I'd be being an awful friend, and I couldn't in good conscience let you go off and do stupid things without someone to get you through it."

Harry was silent for a long moment, and then, "This all feels so unreal still."

"I know," she replied, and she did. It didn't upset her, because it felt like it was happening to someone else, and she was just being told about it. She couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not.

"Do you think…?" he trailed off again. "We'll find a way. We _have_ to."

Ginny just nodded. The sky above them had darkened to a sullen grey mass of cloud, purpling in places until it took on the look of a bruise. Rowena had said that it reflected moods, and for the moment it was perfect, reflecting their feelings down to the last nuance.

"Everything bad happens to you," she mumbled. "You really are Fate's Joke."

Harry chuckled sadly. Again, it had the feeling of a sob to it. "Everything," he repeated. "There's no break in my life. Sometimes I wonder if anyone would mind if I just upped and offed to some sunny island or something. Maybe Hawaii or the Galapagos islands. I could just sit there all day, in the sun, and not worry about anything."

Ginny snorted. "You would anyway."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, I know." There was another stretch of silence, and then, "I'm going to visit your parents soon."

Ginny craned her head to look at him. "Why?"

Harry's eyes were flat and sad. "They need protection. Until I can build somewhere safe, a fortress, then I'll add strong wards around them. I…I don't want anything to happen to them either."

Ginny was faintly touched. "You're doing so much," she whispered.

"I'm doing what I can," he corrected. "What I have to. If I'm going to live, then the people I love will too. I'm not…I can't live without all of you."

"I know," she said quietly. "They'd say the same. You're family Tom."

Harry chuckled. "Tom Grey has been making quite an appearance recently," he said. "I've got three different faces for him now."

"Been tricking shop keepers into selling to the infamous Harry Potter?" she asked. The humour between them evaporated, and he sighed again, air brushing by her ear.

"Yeah," he agreed, staying silent for a moment. "I don't know how to fix that either."

"Don't," she retorted, latching onto something that she could comprehend against the immensity of all the other problems. "It'll fix itself when those bastards realise where they've gone wrong."

"Just concentrate on staying alive, huh?" he asked her.

"No problems with that. I'm not going to kill you, and I doubt anyone but Voldemort could anymore," she said gloomily.

"A bullet to the chest would do it," Harry said flatly. "As long as I was caught unawares."

"No," Ginny countered. "You wouldn't die from something so mundane."

Harry paused, thinking, and then chuckled. "You know, Dumbledore thought the 'power the Dark lord knows not' in the first prophecy was love."

Ginny sniggered. "Just slip old Voldie a love potion in his drink then. Fool," she added with a derisive snort. Harry chuckled again, and she could feel the sound rumbling in his chest.

"That would be the best death ever," he noted. "Greatest Dark Lord of all time…offed by a love potion!"

"Ha," Ginny laughed. "You could have 'New and Exclusive Limited Edition Most Potent Love Potion and Dark Lord Extinguisher!'"

"Damn right," Harry concurred. "We could set up a business and everything."

"Brew batches on Saturdays," she continued.

"Serve customers on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays," he added.

"And have a four day weekend," she said.

"Yeah, that'd be the life," Harry sighed wistfully.

"If only," she agreed. "Nothing's ever simple is it?"

"Not by a long shot," he agreed quietly.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. Harry's face split into a vicious grin, but it was still tinged by hopelessness.

"I'll screw them both over, so subtly they won't even know what's hit them until too late," he whispered. "I'll find a way."

--

Clemence sat under the arbour again. Someone else had come to the house this time. He'd walked at a leisurely pace up the path, two house elves trailing behind him. They were poor, thin, beaten creatures. Clemence had watched him from the branches of her tree, hidden in the thick shade of the foliage.

At first she'd thought he was a Veela, his hair was so pale, so much like Fleur's, but then she'd remembered that male Veelas were too rare, and his didn't exude the same impulsive attraction that they did. He walked with a sinuous elegance, similar to the magical creature, but he seemed far more predatory. She'd known as soon as she'd seen him that this wasn't someone to be trifled with. No one who she could play games with and get away without retribution.

He'd scanned the gardens with cool acknowledgement, and then he'd paused mid-stride, as if something had alerted him to her presence and turned to stare straight at where she was hiding. Clemence had been chilled to the bone. She didn't like this man, not at all. He was far too dangerous for her to like, and she knew that whatever he said to her parents would be unpleasant. He'd win, she knew that. Her parents didn't stand a chance against a man like him.

She'd conjured more of her silver bees to hover round her head, so when people broke into the clearing and made their way towards her, the little insects became alert and threatening.

Her mother looked as she always did, grey and wispy, as if she'd shed her skin one day and left, leaving only a husk behind. She had a soft way of talking, and a high voice so that it was difficult for anyone to catch what she said. On her face was a characteristic expression, not of calm, but of placid acceptance. Clemence once thought that the only way she could continue living was to accept whatever life threw her way. She was reminded of the story of the reed and the oak. When the wind blew, her mother would bend and fold.

If her mother was a reed, her father was the oak. He was strong and unmoving and stoic. She couldn't imagine him giving in to anything that he didn't want to, but she could see from here that he'd been toppled in the storm. His face was angry, but what shocked her most was the empty helplessness she saw in it.

The storm travelled behind them. The blonde haired man she'd seen earlier in the morning came last in the little procession. He wore a very, very slight smile, but it spoke volumes. He was satisfied, but in his mind he'd only won a little victory. Clemence wondered just what battles he was waging to think it a small victory to beat her parents.

"Clemence, stand and greet our visitor," her mother chastened lightly.

Clemence blinked and stood, brushing down the folds in her faded dress. She did a slight curtsey to the man, though she hated it inside. She held out her hand and he took it, placing a kiss on the back. To the side, she caught her father struggling to contain himself.

"Clemence Moreau," she said, although clearly he already knew her name.

"Lucius Malfoy," he introduced himself, and she shivered. His gaze was too piercing, too cold for her to feel comfortable with.

"Clemence, Lucius has travelled from England," her mother said faintly. Another glance to her father showed that he was too angry still to speak without shouting. She wondered what could have happened. "He comes from a very respectable family."

Lucius smiled slightly, and Clemence felt a chill creep up her spine. Her mother would not be speaking of respectable families unless…

"Perhaps you'll come and join us over lunch," she said. Clemence nodded, trying desperately to keep her confusion and dread off her face. From the blonde man's expression she expected that she had failed. "You wouldn't be opposed to eating outside, would you Mr. Malfoy?" her mother asked.

"Not at all Caroline," the man replied smoothly. "It is a lovely day, after all."

Clemence wondered distantly why he called her mother by her first name but was referred to as 'Mr. Malfoy'. It rang like a warning bell at the back of her head.

As they made their way out of the clearing, Clemence saw that lunch had already been set out on the veranda, a large sample of breads and cheeses and meats arrayed by the maids already. Her family didn't employ house elves, and she wondered where Lucius' had gone since she last saw them.

They sat down, and after the general formalities were exchanged they began to eat. Clemence hadn't been uneducated in the signs and etiquette of meals, and she saw quite clearly that Lucius Malfoy had assumed a position of power. It did not go unnoticed by her mother and father either, but she was simply glad that her little brother wasn't here to see this. He had a habit of stating the obvious, particularly when it shouldn't be stated at all.

The meal was tense for her, but her mother and Lucius kept up a steady string of polite conversation, and she noticed that he spoke almost flawless French. That threw her, because the other visitors had not been nearly so eloquent with their language. Her father remained as silent and brooding as he had been throughout the encounter

She started, suddenly realising that their attention was on her. "Pardon, my mind was elsewhere," she replied with a polite smile.

Lucius smiled indulgently. "I was merely curious as to how your schooling is progressing," he replied. Clemence swallowed nervously.

"It is going well. I excel in Herbology, and have been offered an Apprenticeship in Les Jardins de Santé," she replied steadily.

"Very impressive, for one of your age," he noted smoothly. Everything about him was smooth she noticed, like a polished diamond and just as sharp at the edges. "There is an excellent institute of Herbology in England. The Morgana Institute has developed quite the reputation over the years."

"Yes," she replied neutrally. "I have heard high praises for the education there."

"Perhaps you have considered transferring your Apprenticeship," he asked, cutting his food precisely with his knife.

"I hadn't," Clemence replied quietly. "My education is still unfinished."

Lucius inclined his head. "But you complete your OWL's this year, do you not?" he inquired. Clemence nodded mutely. The direction the conversation was taking was not one that she appreciated in the slightest. She cast a careful, questing glance at her mother, who shook her head minutely.

So she would have to play along with this game after all.

"Have you visited England before?" he asked.

"Yes, it was quite lovely," she said hesitantly. "But the summers there are not as sweet as here."

Lucius raised his head slightly, meeting her eyes with his own grey ones. "Indeed. However, the scenery is most pleasant. It could even compare to some parts of France."

She watched him silently, before realising she was watching and taking a sip of her drink to distract herself. "Do you visit France a lot?" she asked.

"Occasionally," he replied. "The Malfoys have a branch of the family here. In the winter my wife and son are inclined to travel to visit the Alps."

Clemence nodded and took another bite of her meal, tasting nothing anymore. Something was very wrong here, and it set her on edge. Lucius had the same predatory air as a large cat, and she felt a strong foreboding that he would suddenly leap across the table for her jugular, just like in the fairytales she had read as a child. It all fitted, after all. She wondered if she was going to have to marry him, like in the stories.

As it turned out, her guess was not far off.

"Clemence," her father said stiffly, either managing to restrain his temper or unable to take the awkward conversation anymore. "We have arranged a marriage for you."

"To you?" she squeaked, shooting a terrified look at the man sitting opposite. He looked like a Veela on the outside, and she had no doubts that she was just as vicious on the inside.

The blonde haired man laughed indulgently. "I am afraid I am already married, mademoiselle," he told her. "But how very flattering nonetheless." Clemence blushed, embarrassed. It had been obvious to all that her opinion of him so far would not be flattering at all.

"Who then?" she asked timidly. The man smiled like a cat in cream.

"My son."

No, she corrected, like a cat that's caught the canary between its paws and is enjoying playing with it.

"Your son?" she asked faintly, in a very good impression of her mother's frail tones.

"Draconis Lucien Malfoy," he expanded, still watching her with faint amusement.

A soft "Oh," was all she managed to say. Her parents had arranged her marriage? That tradition hadn't run in their family since her great grandparents, and to do it now…

"I hear your brother is returning from his travels soon," Lucius said casually. "I do hope he will be around for the wedding."

Clemence suddenly had a very good idea of why this had all happened, and her eyes narrowed involuntarily. The aristocratic wizard just carried on smirking in that satisfied way that made her want to rip it off his face. She'd never been a violent child, but the man managed to get under her skin. _Nobody_ threatened her family and got away with it. And she'd always thought Laurent had inherited her father's temper.

"Will your son be visiting us?" she asked coolly.

"Of course," Lucius answered silkily. "The traditions must be observed."

"Mr. Malfoy and ourselves have planned the wedding within the month," her mother added, Clemence barely catching her voice.

Her eyes widened in surprise at that. "A month?" she exclaimed. "But that is barely time for the Courtship Rituals…" she trailed off, meeting those cold grey eyes again. He seemed to know exactly what was running through her head.

"That is the case," he concurred, "but it is in our best interests for you to be wed sooner, rather than later."

If it would not have been completely inappropriate, she would have groaned and set her head in her hands. Married in a month! It was…shocking. Preposterous. But his eyes told her very clearly what would happen if she didn't wed, and she loved her family too much for that to happen. She settled for leaning back in her chair, defeated.

"And will I see my family frequently?" she asked tonelessly. His smirk grew marginally larger.

"It would be cruel for a family to be broken," he told her. "You will be able to pay monthly visits. The transoceanic Floos have vastly improved from the older versions."

So these were the terms. She'd be married and moved to England as soon as she'd finished her exams. She'd either attend Hogwarts, which seemed increasingly unlikely, or she'd gain a transfer for her Apprenticeship and study in the Morgana Institute of Herbology. That was if she was even allowed to. She had heard from her cousin that some English aristocrats didn't even leave the house but for ceremonies and parties. How she would hate that to be the case.

"And where will the wedding take place?" she asked. Lucius spread his hands.

"That is still under debate," he replied. "But you mentioned that France is lovely at this time of year, no?"

Clemence nodded gravely.

"Your housing arrangements have already been taken care of, of course, and there is room enough in the manor," he told her, still with that slight smile that made her want to skewer him with the end of her blunt butter knife.

"And will my friends be able to visit," she said before adding, "safely?" in a very quiet voice.

"Very good," he said after a long pause, watching her with an unreadable expression. "Your friends and family will remain safe, with your compliance, and you will remain safe with theirs."

She flinched at this, but her mother and father remained as still as if they'd been carved out of stone. She wondered if he had eyes like a basilisk, to turn them to stone, and if the cold in her toes would work its way up her body and freeze her too.

"Now," he continued, obviously enjoying the utter silence he was able to command, "your parents and I will work out further arrangements. Draco will arrive commence the Courtship Rituals on, oh, I think Tuesday, don't you?"

Clemence could only nod wordlessly. It was all she could do to hope that the phrase 'like father, like son' didn't apply in this instance.

--

The colour of blood. Everything seemed to come back to that with him. Through the potions and the spells and the victims until he couldn't even wash it off in the fucking shower because it would start to bleed out of his pores as he grazed the top layer of skin off his flesh.

This time it was another potion.

"Very good young Malfoy," Rookwood murmured from beside him. He had an unpleasant habit of that. The grey haired man would adopt a harsh tone with the Lestrange brothers, but when they were alone his voice dropped into a whisper that sent shivers up Draco's spine.

It wasn't even a simple matter of some distasteful desire for his body. At least that, Draco would be able to understand and put it in some sort of context. Instead the man seemed to be filled with dark, unexplainable twisted matter. His reasons seemed so much more complex, and were intimately tied up with the Dark Arts.

He had come to suspect that it was the desire to destroy him.

The Dark Lord had really picked his teachers. They were brilliant at what they did, quite brilliant, and he could appreciate that. The Lestranges could kill a man as fast as any Killing Curse, and were filled with a seemingly boundless energy that insinuated itself into whatever they did. They could fight for hours and not tire, even after Azkaban. He already knew that they shared Bellatrix between them.

Rookwood was a master at invention. His mind was unparalleled in the craft, and when he had been working in the Department of Mysteries he'd pioneered much high-level technology, which he then promptly leaked to the Dark side and constructed lethal versions from. He had gone through the training to infuse objects with magic to make them obey him, but his real skill lay in spellcraft. He had been offered formal training in the discipline, and had invented an addition to the restrictive spells on his person that prevented him from releasing or using any spells that weren't Ministry approved. There had been a moment, he told Draco in that murmur of his, where he had nearly died. See, to cast the addition to his binding contract had been a one-shot type of thing. You either get it right and for a split second you start to die, or you get it wrong and are killed a moment after.

He'd got it right.

Now he was teaching Draco his craft, not so much of the creation of spells, but the ways to use them. Draco had never known that there were ways to kill people with the Lumos spell, or torture them, and Rookwood was most creative in his methods of torture, Draco had seen. The Dark Lord enjoyed handing victims over to him, because Rookwood had a clinical and creative interest in pain. It was rare that victims gave up their secrets as fast as they did with him.

"Drink it," he commanded.

Yes, he was brilliant. But just like the Lestranges he seemed bent on Draco's destruction, or something more. The Lestranges fought him because they knew somewhere, deep in their psyche, that he was going to kill them in the moment he discovered he could. Rookwood didn't have reasons. He just had a desire to do so, and to him that was all that mattered.

--


	75. Thinking Time

**Author's Note: I'm going to be in Spain for two weeks for a music festival. So, predictably, updates will continue upon my return. Apologies for the sketchiness of updates in this fic recently.**

--

First thing in the morning, Harry Faded in a series of jumps to Hogsmeade. The small wizarding town was still sleepy in the early morning, as was Harry himself. He and Ginny had eventually fallen asleep where they sat, and while nothing better than a light doze, it helped him catch up on what he'd missed with the dreams. Now he was headed towards the Owl Post Office wearing the innocuous face of Damien Brown, an apology to Helena clutched in his hand.

"An owl to Diagon Alley," he told the grubby looking woman at the counter.

"That's five Knuts sir," she replied in a slow drawl.

Handing over the change that he'd fished out of his pockets, he continued. "I was wondering how the owls find the recipients."

The woman peered out of her mat of frizzy hair. "Owl magic," she said shortly. Harry waited for an answer, but none seemed forthcoming.

"Er…how does that work, exactly?"

"Well," the woman continued ponderously, "it's the owls isn't it? They know where to go."

"Yes," Harry admitted, despite his rapidly declining patience, "but what do they follow? The person's magic, or who they look like, or who they think they are or what?"

The woman snorted. "Ask the owls boy, because I ain't got answers for you." Rapping her hand on the bell at the desk she cried "Next!" and the wizard waiting behind Harry stepped up. Harry sighed and chose a sturdy looking tawny owl and attached the letter to its foot.

_You could ask,_ a whisper suggested as he was leaving the building. Harry grunted and shoved the faint presence from his mind as forcefully as he could. The more time he spent with Salazar, the greater the chance of him discovering his plans.

_Do you think you can keep me out, my little one?_

_Look,_ Harry hissed, _just…just leave me alone for the moment, all right? I'm not in the mood to talk to you._

The sound of laughter echoed round his mind, and Harry gritted his teeth. _All right Harry, I'll consent to leave you be for the moment, but remember that you cannot hide forever. I can circumvent any barrier you set up._

Harry growled out loud. Of course he could. Everything Harry knew was what Salazar had taught him, and the ghost would not be so incautious to teach him every one of his tricks.

It didn't take him long to cross the main street to the Floo Portal, and a flash of green fire later, he was stepping confidently out into Diagon Alley. The area was mainly empty due to the relatively early time, but there were various shoppers around already, peering in the windows and purchasing necessities. This was good for Harry, because he needed to find a secluded side street to alter his appearance once more. Once he had fished the instant photo of Tom Grey #1 and painstakingly converted his face and build to match it, he confidently stepped back out into the larger street and made his way towards 'Sprite's Robes'.

A cheerful face greeted him at the doorway, Helena still in what looked like a pyjama top, wearing a smile that expressed both her relief at seeing him, and happiness that seemed to be bubbling over with a slightly hysterical tinge. Harry knew the feeling well, and was privately guilty for making her doubts become reality for a brief moment.

"Mr. Hero," she said with an impish smile. "You're back then."

--

It didn't take long for him to hand over a sample of the basilisk hide to Helena, and he was soon making his way back along Hogsmeade road.

Since his mind was still churning, Harry decided to walk back to the castle in the hopes that the physical exercise would calm him. There was dew on the ground that beaded and soaked into the cuffs of his trousers from the long grass, but he enjoyed the feeling, because there was something pleasant about having a _real_ sensation to focus on, so he walked along under the early morning sky thinking about the way the water condensed on the blades of grass instead of ruminating on the weight of two prophecies that had been lain on his back.

He needed to visit Dumbledore again, he realised. The thought sneaked in between his contemplation of the land around him, twining around his brain until he was forced to acknowledge it. He might not agree with the man over many things but perhaps he would have some insight into the prophecies, some insight into something of the mess he felt tangling around him, simply waiting for him to begin struggling before it tightened and choked the protests off his lips.

Perhaps he'd know a way to fix it, he hoped, but he knew not to set any stock on that hope. Dumbledore was only a man after all – an intelligent one, but still human, still fallible. Perhaps more so than others.

Birds were singing nearby, and he realised with a start that he had missed the sound recently. There had been no birdsong in Salazar's chambers, or around the various Alleys he'd visited, but now the sound rolled over him like a soothing balm, and he wondered if perhaps he merely hadn't been listening to it, realised just how much he had taken something so simple for granted.

It reminded him of his Animagus transformations.

He'd worked on it with Salazar, but not as much as he should have. He had the spell net nearly completely mapped, all he needed now was to experiment with it and see if he could implement the modifications to it. He should see Godric, he realised, mentally adding him to his list of people to visit, which had grown most substantially recently. If anyone could help him with his ideas it would be the Charms Master.

By his estimation, it was probably nearing seven thirty in the morning, and he knew by now that few of his friends would be up yet. He briefly considered convincing them to have the lessons in Hogsmeade, not the castle at all, but he knew instinctively that it wasn't an option. There were just too many things that could go wrong, and there was no sense in giving up a perfectly safe place to practice on mere ill feeling.

He didn't want to go back to the castle, more than anything.

He didn't want to go into Rowena's rooms, and he knew he would avoid Salazar's for as along as he could.

With a sigh he kicked a small knot of wood ahead of him, enjoying the satisfying sound it made, and the little jumps and skitters over the path, and the sharp 'clunk' it made against the toe of his shoe. The castle was becoming clearer now, and he could feel the unmistakable presence of it at the edge of his magical senses. The wards were the most powerful he had encountered, even while they were being tapped by the basilisk.

The basilisk.

For once in his life, he had no idea what he could do. There was no way he could take a snake that big out of the castle, it just wasn't practical. The beast's skull was bigger than his, and its body thicker. It wasn't the type of thing that was easy to travel around with, but…

Some part of him just couldn't bear to leave it there. The beast had been manipulated as much as he had, to be left in a stasis for so many years, and now that he had found it, it felt as if he'd located a part of him he had barely noticed was missing, filling some hole in his brain and heart. And soul, he added to himself. He was sure more than anything that if he looked into his mindscape he would find another Soul Bond. That's what his reflection had called him: the bonded.

He hadn't stayed to talk to the serpent. In fact, as soon as he had been able to pull himself together enough to wrench himself from Salazar's grip, he'd Faded out of the Chamber. Of course, he had had to return a little while later to gather Snape's pound of flesh, but neither the ghost nor the snake had made an appearance, for which he was thankful. Both seemed to understand that he needed space. Time to think.

On top of everything else, he would need to speak to Salazar. He couldn't think of an appropriate time to do it, but he knew with horrible certainty that it would come eventually. There was still too much he didn't know, and he was still bound by the Apprentice Bonds. He knew that this wasn't a transgression enough to break them, however much he might dream of it. He imagined that it might make life easier, but when he had felt in enough of a right mind to consider it logically, he knew that it would not. There was too much he had still to learn, too much going on between them. It was necessary to keep an eye on the ghost, and Merlin knows that Salazar wouldn't give up under any circumstances. The man just wasn't like that he realised. When he got hold of an idea, it wasn't so much a matter of a dog worrying a bone, but of him consuming it. For Harry to force him to let go of it, the process would be as difficult as isolating the shreds of food that had been absorbed and distributed around his body, and just as painstakingly slow.

There was Draco Malfoy too, but Harry didn't care as much about his rival as he did everything else at the moment. It seemed the boy would have to wait until he found the time to think of a way to free him. Besides, he thought, there was some grim, poetic justice about the fact that he was suffering. He just hoped that the boy wasn't destroyed when he freed him. He'd need far greater skill in the Mind Arts and Soul Arts before he started to tangle with Voldemort's spells. For all he knew, the Dark Mark was the work of decades of intricate practice.

As he drew up to the gates of the castle, he ducked out of sight of the path and threw the Chameleon Skin around his shoulders. He had gone back over one of the books he had borrowed from Salazar whilst staying in Knockturn Inn to find a more appropriate way of masking his magic than repressing it. Repressing it meant that he could only spread the thinnest touch of his magical senses over his surroundings, and it was possible that he would miss things of importance. Instead, he and Salazar had found a simple yet effective magical mask. It had initially worked as they all did – shielding the caster, but Harry had modified it in a similar way to the Chameleon Skin, making it hug his magic rather than his body like a second skin.

The downside was that it had several faults that still needed to be ironed out. High spikes of magic would break through it, and the Mask was still almost impossible to incorporate into his general concealment net, as it used runes as a basis of support. Similarly to the magical 'null' that Dumbledore had created around Godric's portrait, the spell was only as strong as the runes that supported it.

Sketching them into the air, Harry felt the as yet unfamiliar sensation of something settling over his magic. It didn't feel overly restrictive, but it wasn't too comfortable either. Definitely something that could bear improvement.

Continuing his movement towards the castle, properly concealed now, he wondered what he should do with his time before his friends woke. With an idea settling in mind, he decided to visit Dobby and Winky in the kitchens. He owed it to his new house elves to explain why he had barely been calling on them the past week or so. Tiring of the idea of walking through the castle, he shifted to his Fading Point in the kitchens.

The elves were busily bustling about, but he located Dobby and Winky immediately, sensing them through the bond. They in turn had looked up the moment he had fully appeared in the kitchen. Using his magic, he concealed them from the senses of others and dropped the Chameleon Skin from himself.

"Harry Potter sir!" Dobby cried, hopping up and down with a broad grin on his face. "Dobby is pleased to see sir happy and healthy!"

"Winky was worried when Harry Potter sir didn't call her," Winky said quietly from beside the other elf, looking up at him with large glistening brown eyes.

"Don't worry about it," he told the elf. "I just had…a busy week."

"Dobby is very excited for the great Harry Potter sir!" the house elf exclaimed. "The great Founder Helga Hufflepuff is telling Dobby that the school is back with the Founders sir, and that Harry Potter has found the great Godric Gryffindor!"

Harry laughed. "Yes, you could say that. It had quite an effect through the school I hear," he replied.

"Oh yes sir, all the elves is feeling it," Winky said shyly.

"Um," Harry began, "you don't actually need to call me 'sir'. In fact, please don't. Just 'Harry' will do. We are equals now after all."

The house elves gave him a look that made him feel as if he'd been caught picking his nose at the dinner table.

"Winky could not disrespect the great Harry Potter sir," the little elf whispered. Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

"Look, think about it this way," he said slowly, trying to make his words convincing enough. "We _are_ bonded as equals, and I can't change that yet, nor would I want to if I could. Now, I know that you aren't going to abuse that, and are probably going to try your damnedest to pretend it never happened, but either way I'd feel a lot more comfortable being called 'Harry'. You can look at it as if we're equals, and it's appropriate, or you can look at it that your master would prefer you to use the title. Either way, just don't keep calling me 'the great Harry Potter', because I'm really not."

"Oh but you are sir," Dobby squeaked. "Dobby knows it."

Harry sighed heavily, regarding the two wide-eyed creatures before him. "Okay, okay. How about, you call me 'Harry', and you can still use 'sir' if you want to, just not 'master' or 'the great Harry Potter', all right?"

Winky took on a slightly sly look. "So's we can still call sir 'the wonderful Harry Potter' sir?" she asked timidly, a hint of humour in her eyes.

Harry laughed. "Only because it's funny. Look, whatever you're comfortable with, but 'the great' or 'the wonderful Harry Potter' has got to be a bit of a mouthful after awhile, right?"

Dobby nodded slowly. "If sir wishes it…Harry," he said slowly, testing out the name.

Harry sighed in relief, letting a smile cross his face. Even if everything was going wrong, he could count on the elves to cheer him up. They were so irrepressible that it was hard to stay sad or angry near them. Conjuring two chairs, he gestured for them to sit. Dobby complied, having experienced the offer before, but Winky just looked at him with a trembling lip.

"Winky is being asked to sit sir?" she asked quietly. "Never has Winky been asked to sit…"

"Like a equal," Harry finished. "That's the same thing that Dobby said the first time I met him. Go ahead, you'll get used to it."

Tentatively she seated herself on the house elf sized chair, whilst Dobby next to her was shifting in his seat, a broad smile on his face like a toddler that had managed to sneak a craved sweet out of the jar.

"Right," Harry said, wondering where to start. "On Monday I'll be starting the first of my plans, and I'll be heading to the caves outside Hogsmeade to work. I…" he trailed off, thinking. "Can house elves learn Occlumency?" he asked.

"Occlumency sir?" Dobby asked, a confused little frown on his brow.

"It's the protection of your mind, to stop others accessing your thoughts and memories," Harry explained. "It's just…it would be safer if you knew, for both you and me."

"Dobby will try sir!" he told him seriously, nodding so much that his ears flapped around his face. "Dobby will try his best for the great-" he stopped himself. "Dobby apologises…Harry."

Harry inclined his head thoughtfully. "Well, if you can that would be a great help. You can buy things at stores, right?" he asked.

"Yes sir," Winky filled in. "House elves can buy the food for their masters because they are bonded, sir, and their magic can sign for the money."

"Good," Harry said, satisfied. "You two can head to Flourish and Blotts and get yourselves copies of 'The Beginner's Guide to Occlumency'. Anything else you want, don't hesitate to buy."

Winky shook her head vigorously. "No, no, master Har-" she cut herself off. "Harry sir," she corrected, "we mustn't buy more than Harry sir wishes us to."

Harry shrugged. "Well, like I said, if you ever want anything…"

Dobby suddenly became very uncomfortable. "Dobby was…Dobby was wondering sir…" he paused, looking rather hesitant. "Well, Dobby was wondering if he would be allowed to get new cloth – uniforms sir," he asked, catching himself at the last moment.

Harry smiled faintly. "If you want to carry on wearing clothes, then that's fine with me. If it bothers you, just do as you said, and think of them as your uniforms. It only means I can't hand you clothes, not that you can't buy them or wear them," he said. "I'd like to see you wearing things you like."

Dobby looked positively ecstatic, but Winky seemed rather less so. Harry guessed that it would take her awhile to get over the years of tradition ingrained into her mind.

"I'll need you to come with me to help me work, as we'll be moving a lot of stone and the place will need clearing up," he explained. "The first day will probably be full of enchantments and stuff, but you'll be able to work on some of the rest of the caves whilst I enchant them."

The two elves nodded in comprehension.

"I won't be able to tell you about them properly until you learn Occlumency. If you can learn Occlumency," he corrected, "but after that I'd appreciate your help and opinions on what I'm doing."

The house elves, thankfully, beamed instead of doing their customary protests. A little while later, he was sitting at one of the tables and eating breakfast with the two elves conversing, if not smoothly, then at least comfortably. He was discovering that it would be quite a long time before they managed to overcome their predisposition towards subservience. He wondered, as Dobby talked enthusiastically about his favourite styles of hat, how many house elves he would need when he finished all of his bases and island. Probably a good many more than just two.

Forty minutes later, as he was getting ready to leave, he phrased his request to the house elves.

"How many freed house elves are there around?" Harry asked. Dobby looked surprised at the question.

"Many, Harry sir," he said. "If a house elf does something bad by mistake…" he trailed off, ears dropping. Harry nodded, thinking back to the Malfoys. They'd probably have no problem freeing house elves they hated. In fact, he was almost completely sure that the only reason that Lucius had been angry at him at all was for the fact that he had been forced into freeing his servant.

"I thought so," he hummed. "So lots of them will be good house elves that haven't exactly done much wrong," he remarked.

"Dobby expects so sir," he replied, the tennis ball eyes going wide in curiosity. "House elves can go to the Office of House Elf Relocation at the Ministry of Magic sir, but…" he shivered. "House elves is preferring to find their own work, because they is always knowing…the wizards, that only the worst house elves go to the Office."

"Worst?" Harry frowned. Dobby shivered.

"The house elves that are…" he went into a whisper, "not wanting work. House elves that have betrayed their master's secrets, sir."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Why would they go to the Ministry then?"

Dobby looked nervously around, as if he were checking to see if anyone was listening in. "The Ministry takes them away Harry sir, to somewhere where they won't have to work."

Harry grimaced. That sounded awfully like the Ministry was secretly dispatching them. Having seen MacNair, Harry wasn't about to doubt it.

"Right," he said, uncomfortable. "Well, I'm going to need more than just you two in the end. So, is there a way you could 'spread the word', so to speak?"

"Winky knows a way," she said quietly. "Winky will visit the place that the…Freed Elves go."

Harry nodded appreciatively. "Thanks. Tell the ones you think are trustworthy, all right? You two will stay as 'Head Elf', or whatever you have though."

They beamed at him again, and after thanking him they popped away together. Casually checking the time, Harry Faded to Rowena's rooms. At some point towards 10 '0' clock, his friends should be arriving, and it seemed that Ginny was still asleep. In the meantime however, he wanted to continue his work on his mindscape, as he would most likely be helping the others during their time together.

Sketching the words '_wake me when you've all arrived_' in the air before him, he closed his eyes and turned himself inwards.

His mind was just as he left it. The little unfinished firefly hung in mid-air, and after a moment of deliberation he decided to take it with him into the 'public' area of his mind. It wouldn't hurt, after all, to have a place where he could leave his half finished creations until he came back to them.

Winding through the tunnels he made his way into the sections where they became stone corridors, and finally turned into the circular room he had made in his last session with his friends. There was the familiar domed roof and the half-finished table he'd begun to make when he had been interrupted. Leaving the firefly to hang in the air near the door, Harry focused his magic on raising the table.

It was large and circular, growing out of the floor and forming a roughly hewn stone tablet that rested on the legs, matching the room's appearance. He remembered reading the tales of the Knights of the Round Table and King Arthur in his primary school library, and it seemed fitting to base the idea off that. There was only one small change he planned to make. After all, there was no real reason for him to give the table legs at all, considering that his mindscape wasn't constrained by gravity. After brief consideration, he sunk the legs back into the rocky floor, before considering chairs.

Similarly, they needn't have legs. It meant that he wouldn't have to listen to the uncomfortable grating of stone against stone every time people sat down, but they would be difficult to make comfortable. He was starting to understand the difficulties of furniture design. He considered creating chintz armchairs as Dumbledore did before dashing the notion away. He really didn't want something quite so…colourful in his stone wonderland.

"_Troubles, pet?"_

Harry started at the hiss, turning to see Salazar lounging against the arched doorway.

"_A new endearment?_"he replied blandly, trying to suppress the sudden, uncomfortable nausea beginning in his stomach. He really didn't want to be reminded off all the plots and prophecies at the moment, and Salazar did just that.

"I must find ways to amuse myself, after all." Salazar moved gracefully forwards, brushing past him to examine the table. "This is good work," he observed tapping it with the tips of his fingers.

Harry made a noncommittal sound and moved to put the table in between them. Salazar watched him with amusement.

"We will speak of the situation, little one. It may be delayed, but it will not pass by silently," Salazar told him. Harry wrestled with his dormant anger and won.

"Very well," he said stiffly while Salazar smiled easily. Even if he hadn't been privy to his thoughts and emotions, he would have been able to divine Harry's mood. He posture was as tight as a coiled spring.

"You are working on chairs, I see," Salazar noted. "Perhaps…" he trailed off, and with a brief gesture of his hand, the floor moulded itself into a straight-backed stone chair, similar to those Harry imagined appearing in Victorian era dining rooms.

He was unable to repress the two toned envy at the ease of Salazar's work and his anger that the man was manipulating pieces of his mind, no matter how small.

"A little too formal," Harry bit out. Focusing on the chair, he removed the legs, leaving it floating in mid-air like the table, and added a rougher quality to the stone. Appraising the results he thought that it would suffice for the moment, until he found another design he liked. Walking over to it despite Salazar's close proximity, he checked that it was solid and supported his weight. Too often he'd made something, only to find that he had forgotten to make it substantial.

"You are becoming faster," Salazar noted with a pleased smile. "We will speak soon, little one. It does not do to let resentment towards the unchangeable fester."

With a nod, the Founder dissolved from view, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. To distract himself and allow himself to relax his tense posture, he focused on replicating the chairs around the table until there were enough for his friends and a few spares.

Pausing to admire his work, it became slowly apparent that the entire room seemed to be focused on the centre of the table. It would need a pinpoint, and he had a good idea of what to put in it. He remembered the spy movies with secret governments in underground bases that he had seen from the sidelines of the Dursley living room. They had had holograms and screens in their tables to plot attacks and enemy movements. Ideally, he'd create a mental variety and eventually build one in real life.

An idea striking him, he left the meetings room and browsed the corridors for a simple, inconsequential memory crystal. Finding one that displayed the cover of one of his textbooks, he lifted it from the wall and returned to the room. If he could eat memories, why not project them?

He estimated the centre of the table and created a slight dent, placing the crystal in the middle. All he would need was to work out a way to activate it so that it would appear like a film.

A good while later, he sat back, satisfied. It wasn't perfect, by any means, but it would be as effective as any cinema screen. For the moment he wasn't able to make it show an image from any other angle than one, but he had hopes to improve on that. He was just tinkering with it when a loud 'HARRY!' echoed through the catacombs of his mind. Wincing, he stood. Hermione had managed to tone down her voice a little, but it wasn't exactly quiet by any means.

Grimacing, he withdrew from his mind.

--


	76. Mindscapes

--

--

"Hermione," Harry greeted the bushy haired girl sitting to his right. "You've toned down the sound a bit, but it needs work."

She blushed and muttered an apology. Harry stood and stretched his cramped muscles, working out the numbness in one foot. His friends were spread out over the sofas, all waiting for him to begin.

"Right," he said, seating himself again. "How's the practice going?"

"I'm getting better, I think," Neville told him timidly. Reaching out with his magical senses, Harry tested the barriers. They were almost non-existent, but they had good foundations. Nodding, he turned to Opa.

"Right on track," she said smugly. "They're good, so far, and I fortified the barriers around the reflection."

Harry couldn't easily test the barriers as casually as he could the others but he made a note to check them later. "Did you start on the reflection itself, and make sure the barriers went all the way round?"

Opa snorted. "I'm not completely incompetent Harry. The reflection needs more work, but it's getting better."

Harry nodded again, moving his gaze to Luna. "Is anything working?"

She gave him a dazed smile. "I've made the nicest places."

Harry gave her a bemused smile and turned to Ron. He grimaced.

"It's going slowly," he said, irritation creeping into his tone. "I've practised, but it takes so bloody long."

A press against those barriers showed Harry that they were even more fortified than Neville's, but so inconsequential as to be useless.

"It'll pick up. I'll help you along with them later," he assured his friend. "'Mione?"

Hermione smiled. "I had a breakthrough yesterday, and the Founder's have been helping me."

Harry mirrored her smile, grateful that he'd told the male Founders to be wary of visiting the portraits of their friends if his companions were there. He just wasn't ready to tell them anything more than they already knew until their Occlumency improved enough to withstand the probing of the resident Mind Arts Masters.

Reaching towards Hermione's barriers, he encountered the strangest thing. He simply couldn't understand them. There was something blocking him, no doubt about it, but he couldn't get a purchase on it. Frowning, he regarded her carefully.

"I need to have a look at yours," he remarked. "Whatever you've done is…very effective." Hermione beamed, and he turned to the redhead by his side. "Gin? I trust you've fixed things up?"

Ginny grinned wickedly. "I'd hate to see the bastards fall into one of my traps."

Harry laughed. "Having all day to work on your barriers does tend to speed things up doesn't it?"

"Right you are coz," she agreed.

"You're all doing well," Harry told them. "But it needs work. First though…" he cast a glance at Ginny, "I'd like to try something with all of you."

Ginny laughed delightedly. "You're going to do the mind-sharing thing, aren't you?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and Opa looked at him appraisingly, but the others merely appeared confused. "But wouldn't we need to know Leglimency?" she queried. "And didn't Fabre the Greedy prove that mind-sharing was impossible?"

Harry smirked. "Nothing's impossible Hermione. And you should know that you don't need to know Leglimency. I'll deal with that." Catching Opa's guarded stare, he met her eyes and nodded. "I'll bring you first Opa."

Reaching out with his magical senses, he tried to get a purchase on her conscious mind as he had done to Ginny. The magic surrounding her was just as difficult to bypass as before, but he sent a request for it to relax, and after a moment he was able to brush her mind. He caught a glimpse of her lounging by the cave-in from his own mind and gently reached a tendril of magic out to pull her towards him.

He could feel a presence in his mind, and after checking that her body was still breathing and functioning properly, he retreated to his mindscape. Opa was standing by the cave-in once more, watching him with a rueful smile. Harry saw at once that her normal disguise was almost gone.

"You're visible," he observed. "Not so good then." Opa winced.

"Subtle, aren't you?" she grumbled. "Thank you for stating the obvious."

Harry frowned. "Why can't you shield yourself in your mind? There's got to be a trace of magic going to you, because you're still a bit masked."

Opa shrugged aimlessly. "It doesn't work that way. The magic sticks to my skin, not my mind."

"So are you going to be joining us then?" he asked, leaning against one of the walls.

Opa scowled. "I don't have much of a choice, do I? Besides," she smirked, "I get to see your mind with the memories intact."

Harry restrained himself from baring his teeth at her. "Touch anything," he warned her, "And I won't hesitate to destroy a good chunk of your mind the next time I visit. Anyway," he continued in a careless voice, "it's not as if you would want to go tangling in my memories. The protection I have is…deadly."

Opa's eyes flickered with anger and surprise before her face shut off behind a blank mask. "I'll heed the warning Potter."

Resisting the urge to snort, Harry tugged himself back to the real world, opening his eyes to gently conversation and several attentive stares. Opa's body was slumped on the sofa where she had been seated.

"Who's next?" he asked with a grin.

It took several trips to drag them all into his mind, and with those who had just recently been practising Occlumency he caught only scant glimpses of their mindscapes before he caught a hold of them. Checking for the last time that everyone was still breathing, he retreated into his mind.

He opened his eyes to discover the small group standing by the cave-in, looking curiously around. Apparently they had quickly learned not to comment on Opa's partially revealed appearance, because she was leaning on the wall she had been when Harry had left, scowling. Hermione and Neville were peering at the lightly glittering walls whilst Luna hummed a soft tune under her breath. Ginny was seated on one of the boulders next to Opa, looking rather uncomfortable. It was Ron, however, that attracted his attention, as the redhead was sheet white and staring at the rocks with careful assessment. It didn't take much for Harry to guess what was bothering him, after all, he'd spent a long time in the second year clearing enough room for them to clamber back past the cave-in into Hogwarts main.

Walking up to him, he swiftly silenced the questions on his lips before murmuring, "I promise I'll tell you Ron, everything, but not until you've learnt Occlumency." The redhead opened his mouth to protest before snapping it shut and nodding stiffly.

"Right," he said loudly, capturing his companions' attention. "Follow me, and for Merlin's sake don't touch anything."

They walked at a leisurely pace through the corridors, although several times Harry had to remind himself to keep from speeding up. He really didn't _like_ the idea that one of them might slip off and discover his memories, no matter that they were all securely protected. He still hadn't brought himself to properly look over his time with the Dursleys, and the idea that any of his friends might have the slightest chance of stumbling upon them made him undeniably nervous. They were weaknesses he did not wish to expose to anyone, not even his friends.

Speaking of my friends, he thought, they're becoming rather jumpy. And indeed they were. Harry was not unaware of the effect such a dark and gothic setting was going to have on them, or their opinions of him. It was one thing for your friend to witness horrors and change swiftly over the months of his absence, but it was another to see the physical manifestation of it. His mindscape was naturally the environment he felt most comfortable with, and he realised that most, if not all of them were drawing conclusions from his choice of landscape. Ginny, at least, had a better idea of why it was like this, but compared to her summer wonderland, he could understand why she was uneasy in his mind.

The tunnels stretched into the corridors and eventually Harry led them into the circular meetings room. They paused at the threshold, taking in their surroundings, but as Harry seated himself in the chair directly opposite the door, they spurred themselves into action and chose their own places around the table.

"Well." Ron broke the silence. "That wasn't what I expected."

"No," Hermione agreed quietly, obviously lost in thought.

Harry shrugged. "I don't expect it was," he told them. "But I've brought you here to tell you a few things. Not much, but as much as I can until you can properly protect your minds."

"Is…is it really that important that its kept secret?" Neville asked hesitantly. Harry opened his mouth to reply, but despite staring with great interest at the rough floor Luna cut in before him.

"Harry always does important things," she said dreamily, twining a finger absently in a lock of her straggly hair.

"More like important things do him," Ginny added with a smirk. "You haven't managed to go one year without Voldemort or some other problem dropping on your head."

Harry shook his head with a smile. "Very true. But yes Neville, to answer your question, it is important. I can't tell you what I've learnt, because that is not something I am willing to risk Voldemort discovering. I can't tell you the plans for the Resistance, because that is even more important than what I've learnt. I can't tell you certain things concerning the school or the headmaster, because again, they're too important to let Voldemort discover."

"Very secretive, Potter," Opa remarked.

Harry smirked. "Well, I try. I suppose the first thing I should inform you is that all wizards have a balance of Dark and Light magic in them…" He swiftly ran through Salazar's example of the lake with them, watching the expressions vary from Ginny's smug look to Hermione's disbelief and Ron's horror. Ron, he surmised, was so terribly set in light. It was both endearing and frustrating.

"I have a far higher proportion of Dark magic in me than people might have expected," he finished. "So if that bothers you…well, you'll have to get over it real fast or stop speaking to me."

"I don't mind you Harry," Luna told him, looking at him with wide pale eyes. "Even if you are evil."

Harry blinked. "Er…thanks."

The others, besides Ginny, all seemed to be digesting this slowly and carefully, and after giving them a moment, Harry chose to continue.

"The next thing is that I know what's causing the Chills, and it's not Voldemort," Harry said, a grin spreading across his face as Hermione's gaze fixed on his.

"You WHAT?" she snapped. "You didn't tell us? It could be dangerous!"

Harry chuckled, taking pleasure in her infuriated expression. Sometimes it was just so tempting to wind her up like a mechanical toy and watch her jitter across the floor…

"It's not dangerous." He paused and re-evaluated his statement. "Well, no, it _is_, but not to anyone in the school. The wards will continue to drain until I find a way to fix the problem, but Voldemort isn't doing the draining, nor are our enemies."

"But what _is_ it?" Hermione pursued. Harry smirked.

"Call this a little incentive for you to get your Occlumency shields up to full," he teased. "Oh, and I'm assuming you all felt the magical surge on Monday?"

"What was it?" Opa asked. "People fainted…"

Harry smirked with immense satisfaction. "I'll say nothing more than the school returned to its rightful owners."

Surprisingly, it was Ron who came to correct conclusion first. "You found them. You found them and you didn't tell us," he accused, scowling. Harry levelled him with a glare.

"It's a liability enough for you to know about these two rooms under the noses of three Mind Arts Masters," Harry told them sharply. "The only reason I told you about them when your minds were still unshielded is because we needed somewhere safe to work. I'll show you them when you've shielded your minds, and not a moment before. That's a promise."

Ron fixed him with an angry glare, but wisely didn't say anything more. Harry didn't think he'd be able to hold onto his temper if the redhead went into one of his patented Weasley rants. Noticing Opa's narrowed eyes, he decided to throw in his last point.

"Nobody will be able to visit Salazar's rooms," he told her flatly.

"Why?"

Harry noticed that the others' attention had returned to him, and Hermione was watching him with the look that he had come to recognise as meaning she was trying to piece together some puzzle, but was missing the crucial pieces.

"He isn't letting anyone in," he said plainly. There we go, he thought as his friends broke into chatter, simple misdirection. He'd worked on his expression enough to suggest that he hadn't been able to visit the rooms either.

"-wouldn't want to visit that snake's room anyway," Ron huffed. Beside him both Hermione and Opa looked very disappointed, although for different reasons. At least now he'd told them that they'd been found, the male Founders would be able to visit the portraits without precautions.

"I think it's a terrible shame that we won't be able to," Hermione said. "I mean, he's still one of the Founders isn't he? There must be a wealth of knowledge there."

"I don't know," Neville muttered from the side. "If he's anything like Snape, I don't think I'd want to meet him, let alone visit his rooms."

"They say the Minister is the one living descendant of Slytherin," Luna hummed. "Daddy wrote an article on it last month when he was tracking the vampire lines. Slytherin was a vampire, you know."

Hermione took on a derisive expression. "It isn't possible to use heritage spells to reach so far back," she countered with a sniff. "That's why the older families keep family tapestries."

"It is too," Luna replied, eyes flashing. "Daddy uses the Mimbolola spell and it works just fine. Just because you don't know about it doesn't mean it doesn't work."

Hermione looked like she was forcefully restraining herself from snapping back. "Luna, that spell doesn't exist. If it did it would be all over the news and people would be tracking their families everywhere."

Luna looked at her pityingly. "We have a to keep it a secret, because the Daily Prophet wants to steal it and use it themselves. Minister Fudge had it invented so he could discredit Amanda Triggs if it looked like he was going to lose the election."

Beside him, Ginny was shaking with silent laughter, and even Neville had a smile on his face. Hermione, seeing that the argument had become a source of amusement turned away with her nose in the air, which Luna seemed to take as a victory to her. Harry snickered.

"Too right," he murmured, recapturing their ears. "After Sunday, I'm going to be busy. I'll try and come back every Saturday and teach you, but sometimes I won't be able to show up. Just start practising as soon as you arrive, and get one of the Founders to help you. I'll try and lay down the basics for practising magic today, and the Founders will be able to help you improve from there on when I'm not around. Just, stay strong and on your guard, all right? I don't want any of you to get hurt." He looked around the array of faces before him seriously. He'd teach them to defend themselves if it were the last thing he did.

"When are you coming to meet Fate's Joke?" Neville asked quietly, casting a glance at the bushy haired girl to his right. "Hermione was working on a way to contact them…"

Harry turned to her, interested. "What were you thinking?"

Hermione sighed, face scrunching up in frustration. "I was going to use galleons, and alter the serial numbers on them, but the goblin protections on them are too strong."

Harry paused for a moment, rolling the idea over in his mind. "Have you tried making duplicates?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she sat up very straight. "That's it!" she exclaimed. "It's so simple! Why didn't I see it before? And if I use duplicates then maybe I can put charms on to stop them spending them too," she mused.

"I think it's a brilliant idea," Harry told her with a faint smile. "Never let it be said that you aren't creative. It's going to be very useful having your help on my little project for the future, all of you," he said, sweeping his gaze round the group. They remained silent, each captured in their own thoughts. "Tell me what day I should come speak to the group when I next visit, all right?" There were various nods. "Right. I suppose it's time to see how you've progressed then."

--

To his delight, exploring his friends' mindscapes and helping them to improve them was a pleasurable experience. The sheer variety of landscapes they had chosen astounded him, and he tucked several of their ideas away in his mind for later use.

Neville's was deceptively simple. It was a small cottage, equipped with a rustic back garden and three greenhouses. The cottage was completely empty, containing nothing more than white washed walls and dully polished wooden floorboards. The back garden however, despite its tiny appearance, seemed to broaden into a maze of winding paths as they went along, reminding Harry of the famed magical defiance of regular dimensions. Seedlings were growing from plump flowerbeds, still in their undeveloped stage.

The greenhouses were delicate glass and well kept, filled with a similar range of plants as those in Hogwarts, and others that he didn't recognise in the slightest. Many of them, Neville confided, were ones he had long imagined.

His memories were haphazardly strewn about the place, hidden in the leaves of a bush or the knoll of a tree, or under flowerpots and rocks. Deciding to leave the sorting of the memories for another time, Harry instructed Neville on how to put protections around him. The world around them currently faded into the void only a few metres from the edges of the house and garden, but in a flash of inspiration Harry set him to winding the background around the house, effectively encasing it in a bubble. This could be reinforced and peppered with all manner of defences, because for the moment he had absolutely no idea of how to turn the idyllic little cottage into a death trap for invaders. He just hadn't come prepared to think of ways to turn plant pots into deadly weapons.

Leaving Neville to continue folding the background around the house and under it like the skin of an orange, Harry continued on to Ron's mindscape.

This was more of what he had been expecting.

In a manner strangely reminiscent of Alice Through The Looking Glass, Ron had chosen a chessboard as his mindscape. Each square was around the size of a small field, although they were as yet unadorned by chess pieces.

"I just figured," said a voice behind him, "if you're going to have to defend it then I may as well play to my strengths, right?"

Harry turned to him with a grin. "It's great Ron. Since you beat everyone hands down at chess, once you've got this up and running you'll have defences like…they'll be good," he finished, searching for the words. "What have you got so far?"

Harry found himself walked across most of the land. Ron had taken a definite tactical point of view on this one, creating a series of interconnecting hills over the land that formed bases, with sharp, sheer edges that made them practically impossible to scale. He explained to Harry that he wanted to create tunnels that ran from one to the other, and giant chess pieces to guard their squares. At the edge of the board the landscape feel away very suddenly into the Void, and whilst Harry could see the advantage to being able to shove the enemy off the edge, they'd most likely just return to their minds, whilst if Ron lost his purchase it would be a little more difficult.

They ran through a variety of suggestions, Harry bringing up ideas like using the short-cropped grass to conceal pits, rocks to stab up and catch them unawares, and the installation of Oubliettes, Ron thought on a larger scale. He suggested sweeping physical landscapes, and at Harry's mention of being able to create animal guards, he became very excited. He got the feeling that when he had completed his work, the redhead would have armies of creatures which he could order over the hills. It would be like a miniature war game, Harry mused dryly. There were times when Ron reminded him of nothing more than the young boys who'd been at his school with their plastic toy soldiers, all set out in lines across the floor as they wages battles with each other. He could only hope these skills translated into reality as well as they did on the chessboard.

Luna's mind, he resolved, was terrifying.

Apparently she'd decided to work on his plans and build something in her head, even if her thoughts whirled around it like a cyclone. She'd built a set of precarious little walkways and steps without banisters leading to lily covered ponds and koi carp beneath them, or tiny houses that stretched boundlessly upwards where the furniture clung to the ceiling and the stairs resembled something out of an Escher painting.

She led him up a series of stepping stones that were not more than a foot wide, hanging over the Void, to a place that he could barely understand. As far as he could tell, she'd _built_ it out of memories. It had a floor, and walls and a ceiling, but with every step he took he was assaulted by images and sights and scents. He mentally dubbed it the Insanity room, and watched dumbstruck through the attack of senses as Luna skipped carelessly across it.

Whilst he remained there, she created him places and worlds, ones that he could fit like little marbles in the middle of his palm. They cast strange shadows and lights over his skin, like the aurora borealis in miniature against a fleshly canvas.

Yes, strange. Very strange.

There were places where he felt as if vertigo had been reversed, and the fear of the endless drop into the Void became a fear of the endless heights above him, as if he could fall into them and drown, like a reflection of the real world. There were cobwebs and streams and jellies and flitting colours that whirled sluggishly around them. There were creatures that only appeared when he wasn't looking for them, out of the corner of his eyes, and all the time they were surrounded by the whirlwind of memory and thought.

She'd found the eye of the storm and built her labyrinth of dreams in it.

Harry, when he moved on, decided that that was enough of her mind to sate him for a century. He suspected that people could become lost in there, drunk of fantasy just as she was. Perhaps if everything went wrong, she said, he could move in permanently.

Hermione's mind was blessedly ordered, but just as incomprehensible. Apparently, she'd decided to build the most complex structure she could, not being a typically visual person. Her mind was constructed out of sounds and tastes.

Harry quickly realised that he would be of little help there, unless it was to test her barriers. Sight being his primary sense, he found it both terrifying and confusing to be there. How could he defeat barriers made of sound? How can you destroy song? In her mind there was a deficit of imagery, so much so that it scared him. Rather than an endless blackness, there was just…an absence of colour that he couldn't get to grips with. Even her memories were stored as sound, in neat, orderly rows and stacks like a multitude of invisible bookcases.

When he finally retreated, he was more than impressed. He paused for a moment, watching and enjoying his friend's relaxed poses before he called them back. Wandless magic was the first thing on the menu, and although he was feeling less than amiable towards Salazar, using the phrase 'create light' to infuriate his friends would be more than satisfying.

--


	77. Grimmauld Place

--

--

The bond oozed, acid green before him. Little tendrils had latched onto the rock in a grotesque parody of a trailing root. Harry disliked that. There was, after all, no reason for him to delight in the idea that Voldemort had rooted in his mind. Still, he had promised Snape, and when he promised things he didn't go back on them. Too many people had done that to him to make him feel it was acceptable, especially when gambling with something as important as the man's life. It was crucial that he slip in and out unnoticed as he did in his visions. If Voldemort caught even the slightest hint of his presence, then more things could go wrong than he could count. It would be seen as a one off. His teacher would die.

Bracing himself, he focused on narrowing everything about him down to a thin point, a wafer thin blade. He needed to slip into the man's mind as comfortably as he did in his dreams. All he could do was follow the green trail and hope it led him to the place he wanted to go, and showed him the place he wanted to see.

With a deep breath, he stepped onto the small thread. There was a moment where he hovered, foot touching it, before he was submerged and swept away in a whirl of sickeningly green light. He felt he should be hearing his mother's screams, or the killing words, but there remained only the light and a searing pain on his forehead that felt as if something were burrowing into his scar, under his flesh, right into the grey mush of his brain. Gritting his teeth, he tried not to scream.

By the time he came to himself, he couldn't tell if he'd screamed himself hoarse. It certainly felt like it, but the familiar Chamber wasn't echoing with his cries, so he supposed that he hadn't. He hoped so.

All that remained, was to find Voldemort's conscious mind and see through his eyes, which, Harry mused, was more difficult than it had seemed at first. The cavern stretched wide and high around him, the air heavy with the damp of centuries. He knew now that there should be no basilisk here, but he wasn't about to risk it. However, the more he thought about it, the more sense it would make that the entrance to consciousness was through Salazar Slytherin's mouth. Eyeing the towering statue with great trepidation, Harry wondered whether he would be able to slip through the stone as he could his own walls. It didn't hurt to try, at least.

The stone was cool and resisting against his hands, and Harry found himself hoping above all hopes that he wasn't about to be proven wrong and eaten alive by a giant mental basilisk.

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four,_" he commanded as softly as he could.

The stone remained still, and then the jaw slowly inched down moving inexorably on to reveal inky blackness within. For a good few moments Harry remained still, hidden out of sight of the void of darkness, but summoning his courage, he forced himself to peel away from the wall and move into the gaping maw, step by step, waiting for the jaws of the monster to close around him.

He was not disappointed.

Behind him Slytherin's mouth closed, shutting off the light so that all he had to rely on was the touch of cold stone against his palms and feet, and the scent of damp that hung in the air. He walked for a several dizzying minutes, and then as if from the wrong end of a telescope a speck of light appeared. It grew and grew before him, eventually becoming a scene, sounds muffled.

As he drew closer, the sounds resolved themselves into voices, and the scene resolved itself into a large, sparse, dark room. Harry stopped before he moulded with the image, pausing behind Voldemort's eyes.

"-my lord! They have been very resistant," said a quivering man at his feet. "They have strong family ties and refuse to be swayed."

Harry felt a deep coil of anger stir around him, and he knew the man's fate before the words even crossed his lips.

"You have done well," he murmured, and those around the man looked up in surprise. "Very well. It exceeds even my low expectations for your task. My, what trials you have countered to bring me such valuable information."

Even the servant before him was beginning to notice that something was not all right in the world around him. From the way his companions were inching away, he knew it was not right at all.

"Morris!" he snapped. "It is time that you learn that failures are unacceptable. Perhaps, a little incentive to prove your worth will encourage you to bring me more than excuses when you return." There was a pregnant pause, before Harry heard the words past softly from his lips. "_Crucio."_

Harry was rather startled to find that the punishment didn't amuse Voldemort as he had supposed it would. Instead, he felt bare tinge of boredom. He imagined that after awhile, using the Cruciatus curse on inadequate followers lost its appeal, although there was a certain pleasure to feel the power thrumming through his veins. _Voldemort's_ veins, he corrected. It wouldn't do to become confused.

When the man's screams died down (and Harry was very thankful he wasn't dreaming this or he would have experienced the brunt of the curse), he got back onto his knees to grovel.

"My family will be turned my Lord, I promise," he forced out in a shaking voice. A flick of Voldemort's wrist sent him back into line whilst Harry tried to identify those surrounding him. There were a few he didn't recognise, but he spotted Bellatrix and Rookwood. Thankfully his luck had held out and it seemed that Snape wasn't present.

"It was successful, my Lord," said the platinum haired man kneeling now. Harry felt his lip curl as he spotted Lucius Malfoy. Somehow the man managed to appear superior even as he knelt on the floor with his head bowed. Catching himself, Harry reeled in his anger. It wouldn't do to alert Voldemort to his presence.

"I have agreed with them for the wedding to be held within a month, and Draco will be expected to visit to commence the Courtship Rituals in a few days," Lucius said smoothly. Harry's eyes widened. Draco Malfoy married? In a month? This was something he hadn't been counting on. It would make things a whole lot more difficult to work out if he found a way to free the boy.

"Very good Lucius, I am pleased," Voldemort replied slowly. "You will encourage them to use their influence to gain allies and followers. The Moreau family holds much sway over the French pureblood circles, and you will use that to its greatest extent."

"Yes my Lord, of course," Lucius said, bowing his head once more.

"Julius," Voldemort pronounced, and whilst Lucius moved himself back into the semi-circle of dark faces, a slightly portly man came forwards. "Have you had as much success as my faithful Lucius?"

"N-no my Lord," the man quivered. "The Viedors have been very u-unwilling-"

The man's words were cut of by screams that Voldemort eventually finished with a casual flick of his hand.

"You will do better Julius," Voldemort said quietly, but the sound resonated around the room nonetheless. "The Parkinsons have not fallen so far from grace that they are unable to influence others, therefore another failure would rest solely on your incompetence and unwillingness to succeed."

"I will, my Lord, I will! I am your most faithful, I wish to succeed-" the man babbled.

"Enough Julius," Voldemort said coldly, signalling him back.

In the meantime, Harry was debating as to whether he had gathered enough information. Every muscle was tensed, and he knew that the longer he remained the more likely it was that he would be discovered. Deciding that what he had gleaned would have to make do, he retreated away from the speck of consciousness, down the long tunnel to his own mind.

It was only when he was securely back by the green thread that Harry allowed himself a sigh of relief. It wasn't much, but it might throw suspicion off Snape, and for that he was glad. Then again, if the man had told Voldemort that he was teaching him, then Snape might be kept alive on the sheer merit of being the only adult in the wizarding besides Dumbledore who currently knew that they were speaking to Harry Potter, let alone teaching him the Dark Arts.

Before leaving, Harry checked and re-checked the link carefully. After all, if he could use it to gain access to Voldemort's mind then there was no guarantee that his own mind would be safe. That was one of the reasons that he had requested the basilisk to guard the most important memories, and it had taken them to the bottom of one of the luminescent pools in the cavern where it spent some of its time.

Retreating from his mind, Harry looked around him. His friends were still busy practising what he had told them to, although they were looking more than weary, and Ron wasn't even attempting to 'create light' anymore.

"I'm going to be gone for a bit," he croaked, catching their attention. "I need to see Dumbledore."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, concerned. Harry smiled tiredly.

"I just got some important information for him, that's all." She remained curious, but thankfully didn't question him further. Ginny sent him an inquisitive look.

'_Information to stop Snape being put under scrutiny,'_ Harry transferred carefully to her mind. He was pleased to note that she gave no outward sign that she had heard him other than a slight blink.

With a wave to them, he threw on the Chameleon Skin and Faded to the headmaster's office. Fawkes was absent from his perch, but the headmaster's unmistakable presence was behind the desk, and Harry strolled casually forwards until he was sitting in the chair before him.

"Hello Harry," Dumbledore greeted him, eyes twinkling as brightly as they used to. Grinning, he tore the Chameleon Skin off his head.

"Hello Albus," he replied. As he wasn't attending the school anymore there seemed little need to stand on ceremony.

"You are well, I hope?" he asked. Harry inclined his head. "Am I to assume you have arrived to examine the next of the memories?"

"No, no." He shook his head. "I have some information for you that might help Snape out. I couldn't stay long enough to find out more than what I have, but it will have to serve."

Dumbledore smiled. "That was very generous of you my boy."

Harry blinked at him. "It was his life."

"Nevertheless, your act of generosity is acknowledged," the headmaster countered, folding his hands together and watching him over his spectacles.

"Somebody called Morris is trying to convert his family into Death Eaters," Harry reported dryly. "Lucius Malfoy has arranged a marriage between the Moreau family in France and their daughter within a month, and Julius Parkinson is working on something with the Viedor family."

Albus leaned back, contemplatively stroking his beard. Eventually he returned his gaze to Harry. "Yes, that is most definitely useful information. Voldemort has been spreading his resources widely indeed. We already know through the Order that he has regained the support of many of his old followers, and is working on conquering the neutral and politically powerful families, but this is a development…it seems he is moving to Europe."

Harry nodded. "If Malfoy is going to be married, then I guess the others will too."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "I will have to meditate on this, but Voldemort would not be above using his followers to swell his ranks."

The implications made Harry grimace. "Breeding them?"

Albus chuckled at the phrasing. "Quite so, I expect. It was a tactic that he employed in the first war, in order to pave the road for the future, as it were."

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Not too far from what purebloods do anyway, so I don't suppose they're too unhappy." The headmaster gave him a reproachful look but chose to remain silent. "About the Order," Harry continued, "it would be helpful to know things pertinent to it."

Dumbledore's silvery eyebrows rose up his forehead. "I do not believe that would be wise Harry," he cautioned. Harry cocked a brow in question. "You see, the Order is comprised of many individuals who would be in tenuous positions if word of their involvement got out."

Harry restrained a scowl. "I wouldn't go shouting it to the world. For Merlin's sake I'm in a 'tenuous position' myself. I know full well what would happen if I told people."

Albus' eyes became serious and distant. "I am afraid that the concern is not of you telling people."

"Torture," Harry observed. "There are ways to bind the most important secrets to stop even myself from getting them. I'm only asking because I need all the information I can get, and if somebody's life is at stake I might be able to help." He paused deliberately. "Besides, I want to see my godfather."

"Ah," Albus said with a smile, "now that is far easier dealt with."

--

A few hours later, Harry found himself standing on a darkened street. He'd briefly used Albus' Floo to head to his room and check out, and he stood now with his trunk and possessions in hand, Anguis wound round his neck, undetectable. The good weather seemed to have disappeared with the sun, sullen clouds hanging over them, purpling to the colour of a bruise, and as they walked it began to lightly drizzle layering his cloak with tiny beads of moisture.

He had left his friends still practising under Rowena's supervision, telling them that if all went well he would be seeing them next Saturday. Dumbledore led him slowly up the street, both cloaked from sight, the headmaster beneath a Disillusionment and Harry beneath his Chameleon Skin. To his magical senses Dumbledore stood out as a brilliant blot of power ahead of him, dimming the run-down surroundings. The street looked as if it had once been a rather respectable area, but had over the years declined to its present state. The paint was cracking over the walls of the buildings and peeling away, the plants untended and many of the houses appeared to be deserted, or inhabited by squatters. Windowpanes were cracked and filthy, and one door was missing from its hinges, the entrance hall beaten by the weather.

Distantly, Harry wondered why the most noble and ancient House of Black had chosen such an area.

"Here we are then," Dumbledore told him cheerfully, stopping between Number 11 and 13 and dropping his disguise. Harry blinked at the space where he could feel there should be another house. There was a void, a missing place, all wrapped up like a Christmas present with a thick layer of magic.

"Fidelius?" Harry guessed. Dumbledore beamed at him.

"Quite right, my boy, quite right," he replied, withdrawing a little scrap of parchment from one starry pocket with a flourish. "Here."

With a frown, Harry took the piece of paper. Salazar had explained the mechanics of the Fidelius charm to him, and by that note he guessed that Dumbledore was the secret keeper, but he had yet to see it in action and was rather excited about the effects. The purple script read:

'_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix are located at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.'_

Blinking, Harry turned a quizzical glance to the headmaster, pondering the words. There was a sudden and profound change in the magic surrounding the 'gap' before him, and Harry jumped back, startled.

Under his very eyes, the adjacent houses seemed to bulge and jump sideways, just as buses and traffic did for the Knight Bus. Before him stood a venerable old house with heavy gothic undertones that practically exuded Dark magic. Harry exhaled a breath of admiration. From what he could feel so far, there were many, many complex and powerful spells in there, which although close to others, had been cast in such a way as to greatly slow their reversion to unrefined, basic magic.

He could tell already, he would have fun in this house.

Ignoring Albus, he drifted slowly towards the door, feeling the light kiss of the wards as they embraced him. Dark protections, death to those who wished harm to the heir of the Black legacy, and…some kind of blood wards? Harry frowned. He would have to analyse them more closely at another time.

"_It tastes different amigo, like…rain but not,"_ Anguis told him softly, and Harry felt the gentle brush of scales past his ear. "_Not like the old one at all…"_

Harry repressed a chuckle at Anguis' reference to Albus. It was, after all, not far from what he referred to him as most of the time, although 'old man' didn't translate so well into parseltongue. Heading up to the door, Harry dropped the Chameleon Skin and took a bracing breath. Despite Albus' assurances, he wasn't sure what kind of reception he was likely to get.

Passing him, the headmaster opened the door and gestured him through, ignoring the snake-shaped knocker, to which Anguis sent a hissed greeting. The hallway was long and dark, even the bright gas lamps shining from the walls only serving to accentuate the shadows. In his magic, Harry felt a strange stirring as if something were rippling the blackest waters, and with a sinking stomach he realised that the shadows held traces of rather potent Shadow Magic. Thankfully not enough to become animate as the shadow he had chosen had, but enough to wake the monster he'd managed to create. Schooling his face into blankness, Harry reached into the magical reservoir to press the shadow back down. Unfortunately when he'd fed it enough magic to stop it breaking free, his inadvertently _absorbed_ the damn thing.

Nevertheless, it was a problem for a different time.

Dumbledore ambled happily on ahead, passing through a doorway and from the sounds of it descending a set of steps. Reaching out with his magical senses, Harry trailed behind, feeling and touching everything he could, marvelling at the sheer extent to which the house was steeped in Dark magic. Nothing had made him feel this at home magically, not even Salazar's chambers. No, this was the work of _generations_ that had built their spells to last and cast them again and again until the runoff of power bled into the walls themselves.

Manoeuvring around the troll's leg umbrella stand, Harry paused from his magical investigation to make a visual one. There had obviously once been a carpet on the floor, because ragged scraps clung here and there around the skirting board, and from the walls was peeling wallpaper in a rather monotone colour scheme that could have once looked rather elegant, but when hung with cobwebs and trails of damp it only added to the general sense of decay. The magic might have lasted over the centuries, but the decorations hadn't.

At least the portraits seemed to have remained relatively untouched. They were crammed into every available space, as if they had migrated from the rest of the house to reside in the hallway. The largest by far was one just peeking out from under a set of heavy black curtains. With a frown, Harry wondered just why they were covered, but as he'd learnt with Salazar's possessions, it's often best if you don't touch them before you find out the 'why'.

Tearing himself away from his surroundings, Harry cast an inquisitive glance up the grand staircase before following the headmaster's footsteps and descended a set of sturdy steps. Feeling ahead with his magical senses, he encountered what appeared to be a large stone kitchen, discovering the presence of Dumbledore, one very familiar person, and another who confounded his senses completely. She (or was it he?) felt slippery to his magical touch in the same way that Opa had.

Setting Anguis on the floor with the promise to remain out of the way and invisible until Harry retrieved him, he pushed open the door and entered.

--

The kitchen was a long room, equipped with a large stove and several pans that hung above. Before him stretched a wooden table that Harry suspected had once been as grimy and unpleasant as the rest of the house, but now stood in almost squeaky cleanness.

"Harry," said a hoarse voice from his left, but before he was able to turn to the owner of the voice he was enveloped in a bone-breaking hug. His nostrils were assaulted with the smell of clean laundry, dust and a scent that was purely _Sirius._

"Yeah, I missed you too, you old dog," Harry chuckled, although it emerged less smoothly than it normally would have because his breathing was becoming severely restricted.

"Merlin Harry," Sirius rasped. "I was so worried…"

Harry simply smiled and returned the hug, and before long he was drawn away and he met Sirius eyes looking him up and down. "You've grown, you know," he said. "You look older."

"I am older," Harry pointed out with an impish smile.

Sirius ruffled his hair, and Harry couldn't help but notice that he still had a gaunt, worn look about him that didn't seem to have left since he was freed. "You know what I mean, cub. Come on, we've got dinner on the stove, and its about time you told us what you were doing all that time."

Harry gratefully let himself be tugged over to the table and given a bowl of stew, basking in the voice of his godfather. He hadn't known it was possible to miss someone you knew so little, but it seemed it was. There was something so particular about Sirius' character that if you enjoyed his company then it was almost impossible not to notice the lack of it.

"Wotcher Harry," said a voice from his left, and he turned to see…himself?

When the features dissolved into those of a very pretty young woman with a heart shaped face and shocking pink hair, Harry couldn't help but watch in wonder. He was looking at a Metamorphmagus, of all things. He couldn't believe his luck.

"Hey," he greeted the woman. She grinned impishly, and blew a stream of bright purple smoke out at him. Harry noticed with surprise that she was sucking on the end of a peculiar shaped pipe that emitted the occasional smoke ring.

"Auror Tonks," she told him. "But just call me Tonks, all right?"

"That," Sirius said, cutting in before Harry could agree, "is my darling cousin, Nymphadora."

Tonks scowled. "Just 'Tonks' Harry, don't listen to the great brute."

Harry snickered. "All right," he said, "Just Tonks."

Sirius looked a little put out at that, but busied himself by ladling himself out a bowl of the stew and turning to Albus. "Are you eating? It's a bit watery, but…" he asked.

The headmaster shook his head with a faint smile. "No, I do believe I will leave the pair of you to catch up." He inclined his head to Harry as he turned to go. "I hope you will stay in touch Harry."

"Count on it," he replied, not managing to get quite the right note of disdain in it as he was distracted by his godfather. Tonks frowned a little at him, but Albus simply smiled. Sirius seemed not to notice at all, dropping into a seat opposite with his bowl and a piece of bread, the stew sloshing slightly over the lip onto the scrupulously clean tabletop.

"Where's Remus?" Harry asked, looking around. "I thought he was staying with you."

Sirius' face fell a little. "He's gone to try and get the werewolves on our side before Voldemort does."

"That's a bad thing," Harry observed. Sirius avoided his eyes.

"You wouldn't have wanted to see him when he came back the first time," he said after a long pause.

"They bashed him up good," Tonks cut in. "Took weeks to heal properly, even with a werewolf's constitution."

Harry's frown deepened. "What part of England?" he asked.

"It was the English pack he tried first, but they're run by the alpha Fenrir Greyback, and he's Voldemort's man," Sirius said, looking deeply gloomy. "He was the one who turned him…liked to refuse the potion and change near small villages. He always went for children."

Harry swallowed his thin stew, suddenly feeling rather ill. "And he still tried."

"He still tried," Sirius agreed. "Good old Moony."

"'S in France at the moment," Tonks interjected, taking another drag on the pipe. "You-Know-Who's been expanding fast."

"We can barely keep up with him here, let alone in other countries," Sirius grumbled. "We just don't have enough people."

"I heard something about that," muttered Harry, spooning another mouthful of stew into his mouth. "Marrying off his followers."

Tonks chuckled, and Harry couldn't help but notice what a pleasantly warm sound it was. "That sounds like him. Mad purebloods," she smiled.

There was a moment of companionable silence where Harry tried to think of a suitably impressive and witty answer before he caught himself and turned his concentration to the soup and not the attractive young woman sitting next to him.

"Okay cub, start talking," Sirius ordered. "Just because I'm glad to see you doesn't mean I'll go easy on you."

Harry cast a glance at Tonks, but resolved to simply raise a barrier of magic around them that he could use to muffle the more personal parts of the conversation.

"First, how's your Occlumency?" he asked, accepting the hunk of bread Sirius offered.

The dark haired man winced. "Top notch. Has to be with Snape and Sebastian around."

Harry smirked at him. "What, don't like Snape to discover your dirty little secrets?" he teased. Sirius raised his brows.

"No more than you would," he retorted. "The bastard knew how to Occlude before the Mind Arts classes even started, and I know for a fact that he knows more Leglimency than he is legally allowed."

Harry picked up on a periphery thought and finished his sentence for him. "But then, so do you."

Sirius mock-scowled at him. "I refuse to accept a godson who's going to be sneaking in on my thoughts."

"Aw, Snuffles you know I wouldn't," Harry said, placing a hand over his heart and affecting a wounded expression. "It's just they're so _loud_."

"Quiet you," Sirius grumbled, slurping loudly from his bowl. Harry wondered if his disregard for manners was in protest to his family or simply a habit that had carried over from Azkaban. He hoped it was the former.

"Well, you're at least someone I can tell things to," Harry said with relief. "My friends are…less than brilliant at the subject."

Sirius shot an amused glance at him. "You can't expect masters cub, especially from less 'ancient and noble' families," he told him, disdain layering his words.

Harry chuckled. "Sounds like you just love your family," he pushed.

"You should meet my mother," he said blandly. "Then you'd get an idea of just what went wrong with my 'family'. Anyway, you're avoiding the issue."

"Caught me," Harry grinned, taking another bite of his bread. "Well, there happens to be a great tangle of troubles I've got on my back, starting and finishing with the two prophecies that could quite easily entail my death."

Sirius mirrored his grin for a moment before paling and taking a hasty sip of the stew. "You're not kidding are you?"

"No. The first concerns Voldemort, which didn't really change much in the beginning, and was given by Trelawney. The second was induced in a Seer a thousand years ago by Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin, and it includes me and Ginny," he said seriously, raising his cloak of magic around their forms to conceal them from Tonks.

Sirius just blinked at him. "You're really serious," he said slowly. Harry resisted the urge to make a pun on his name in face of the subject matter. "Slytherin and Ravenclaw eh?"

"They had a vendetta," Harry explained. "And were briefly lovers in an attempt to get close enough to kill each other. In the light of the fact that neither seemed to be getting closer, and it was growing increasingly more likely that they wouldn't die by each others hands, they started on their most important work and managed to induce a prophecy."

"Merlin," Sirius breathed. "That's…they would have changed the future like that…"

"Yeah," Harry agreed glumly. "That they did. Anyway, the one with Voldemort goes as so: _'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can survive while the other is alive ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'_"

"Not good," Sirius croaked, not even looking at his food anymore but eyes boring into Harry's. "I won't lose you like that cub. Not to that monster."

Harry found himself feeling rather touched, but he felt a compulsion to say, "Actually Siri, that's the one I'm worried least about."

"How can you be worried least about it?" Sirius shouted. "That's you're damn life! The other can't be worse than that!" After a moment he seemed to collapse in on himself. "Merlin Harry, I already lost you once, please don't let it happen again. I was put in Azkaban, but at least you were alive…"

Harry reached across the table to clasp his godfather's cold hands in his. "It won't. Voldemort can't touch me," he said firmly. "And the bastard will get a surprise should he try. Just look at the lines Sirius: '_neither can survive while the other is alive_'. Voldemort isn't alive, not in a true sense, with what he's gone through to try and become immortal. Now technically, because he's not truly alive, the prophecy becomes reversed: '_for neither can perish while the other is alive'_. It's ironic, isn't it, that the one person he wants most to kill is the one who can grant him immortality?"

Sirius was now looking at him with something akin to hope in his eyes, and from Harry's perspective anything was better than the previous deadened orbs as if he'd come straight from Azkaban prison.

"But what if he still tries anyway?" he asked softly. "There are worse things than death Harry, and Voldemort knows many of them."

Harry looked at him sadly. "I'll live until I want to die Sirius. I won't let him catch me. I know it's a cruel thing to do, to let him stay alive, but I want to live too. I guess I'm just being selfish."

The next thing he knew Sirius had skirted the table and swept him up into an embrace. "You shouldn't have to make that choice cub, but you chose the right one. There'll be another way, I promise. We'll find a way to kill that bastard."

Harry wove his fingers into the rough fabric of Sirius' robes. He truly hoped that he was right.

--


	78. Laburna Black

--

--

"What's the other prophecy?" Sirius asked quietly, when they were both seated back at the table, having regained their composure. Harry sighed, idly pushing his stew around with one crust of bread.

"'_Heir through enemy against heir through prophecy,_" he recited, "_born first of magic and second of blood, equal in learning and equal in cause, marked by poison and marked by fire, they will wage a war and resolve the battles of the snake and the eagle, one emerging triumphant, whilst the other dissolves into shadow._'"

"And you say it's Ginny," Sirius said slowly, repeating his earlier statement. His tone was calm, but his hands shook a little around the glass of brandy he'd poured himself from one of the cupboards.

"It's Ginny," Harry confirmed with a sick feeling stirring in his stomach. "You've met Helga already. Rowena confirmed it, and Salazar…" he trailed off, clamping his jaw shut and swallowing hard. "Salazar explained it all in more detail than I'd ever want to know."

"You've been speaking to him more, haven't you?" Sirius said, concern flitting across his face. "Harry please, I warned you. The man's dangerous, I know it in my bones." He laughed mirthlessly. "Call me a stupid old man, but it's true."

Harry didn't look away, wondering just how much he ought to tell him. He wanted to, very much so, but he couldn't imagine his godfather's reaction. Still, it had to come out sometime. "He's dangerous, I know. Better than anyone perhaps. Did you hear the bit about heirs?" he asked casually, but he felt as if his insides had frozen.

Sirius opened his mouth to agree, and then shut it again very suddenly. His face seemed to have become devoid of all expression. "You're his heir," he said. It wasn't a question.

"And his Apprentice," Harry added quietly.

Contrary to his expectations, Sirius didn't shout or rave as he had imagined he would, but seemed to fold inwards, hanging his head down to rest on his hands. There was a long stretch of silence in which Harry became distantly aware that Tonks had long since made herself scarce. He watched his godfather from where he sat, very still, face as blank and calm as he could conceivably make it.

"This is too much Harry," Sirius whispered, raising his head and fixing him with bottomless grey eyes. "Why did you do it? How could you do it? He's…" he seemed to be struggling for words.

Harry felt his expression harden and did nothing to stop it. "The only adult besides you and Remus I trusted. He's family."

"He's not family," Sirius growled, something seeming to return to him. "We're family, Lily and James were family, Molly and Arthur are family, not…not-"

"Family of the magical kind," Harry clarified tonelessly. "Not of blood. Technically, he's my closest relative."

Sirius eyes widened as he realised the implications of that. "Not…oh Merlin," he whimpered. "This is too much Harry, too much."

"Head of House Potter," Harry said, filling in the blanks for him. "My closest magical tie was Voldemort, and it passed from him to Salazar."

"But he can't be," Sirius repeated. "He's a portrait…"

"And a ghost," said a cool voice from behind him, and an icy hand descended on his shoulder. "Hello little one."

--

Sirius gasped as Salazar faded into view behind him, and Harry half turned to look up at his mentor with a frown.

"You don't have to be here," he said coldly, underlying it with the thought that he really didn't _want_ him to be here, knowing that the ghost would pick up on it just the same.

"However, since it is I who is being discussed I feel my presence may be beneficial," he countered unflappably, moving to seat himself in a chair at the end of the table where they sat.

"You bastard," Sirius whispered, eyes narrowing to slits. "You complete and utter bastard."

"I see now where your penchant for that insult arose, little one," Salazar said, with a glance at Harry. "Now Sirius, I assure you, just as I did your godson, that my parentage was quite secure. However, if you choose to pursue your insults, you will experience a reminder of your manners."

Sirius stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, and then laughed, and continued to laugh, high and humourless and mocking. "Perhaps I'm dreaming," he choked out, "perhaps I'm dreaming and this isn't happening at all," he paused to draw breath, "or perhaps I'm simply _furious_ that some fucking no good, slimy snake of a thousand year old corpse has-"

Harry jerked backwards as Sirius' words were cut off by a pained yell that had the beginnings of a scream in it. Just as he was about to throw all his weight towards the Founder the sound died and Sirius slumped in his seat, and Harry reached across the table to clasp one of his hands in panic. It was one thing for him to get little jolts of pain running through his head, but seeing somebody else, someone he _loved _like that was horrifying. Tearing his gaze away, he looked towards the ghost to find that Salazar remained just as composed as he had moments before, although his eyes had filled with a glint of something dark and unreadable in their depths.

"I am a fair man Sirius," he said softly, "but I do not enjoy nor revel in your outbursts. I advise you to contain them, or the next time it will be your godson to suffer for them."

Sirius' words seemed to have been plucked out of his mouth, and he cast a look filled with such a tumble of emotions at Harry that he was unable to pick out a single one.

_Do not,_ Salazar told Harry silently, _think that you may protest either. The same rules stand as always, and there is a great deal more I can deal than simple pain._

Harry swallowed once, twice, and remained silent. He could vividly remember the time the ghost had taken over his mind, and he was in no hurry to experience it again.

"Very good, little one," Salazar murmured, acknowledging the memory. "These were not quite the circumstances I envisaged for our meeting, but they must suffice." He turned to Sirius, an appraising gleam in his eye as he examined the dark haired man. "Harry has spoken very highly of you," he said after a moment.

_You trusted me once, little one,_ he murmured in Harry's head.

_That was when you didn't fucking torture my _family_,_ Harry spat back, throwing in the word he thought would hurt the most, since there were little more than words to throw. It was difficult to believe that mere moments before he had been telling Sirius that this man was family.

_I will listen if you wish me to stop,_ the Founder returned calmly. _Do you wish me not to do that again Harry?_

"_Yes,"_ he hissed through his teeth.

"Very well," Salazar said softly, and Harry was left with the feeling that he had lost some battle that he had barely been aware he was fighting. "Oh, come Sirius. I did not mistreat him. He is _family_ after all."

Inside, Harry recoiled at the use of his own words, thrown back in his face. Outwardly, he gave no sign other than to curl one hand into a fist. Sirius was obviously fighting with himself to restrain his temper and barely winning.

"I believe you were discussing the prophecy," Salazar continued, propping one elbow arrogantly onto the table. "Rowena chose a name to identify her heir, and I chose a mark. No, not the scar," he said, obviously picking up on his godfather's thoughts, "the mark of poison. Basilisk poison to be exact." Sirius' eyes widened, and he shot a glance at Harry.

"Ah yes, my little one was marked with the deadliest poison to known to man," Salazar hummed, looking at Harry with the glint in his eye that he had come to associate with times when the Founder was reflecting on some secret known only to himself. "To defeat a thousand year old basilisk; yes Harry, it was indeed as old as the others, merely in stasis – to defeat such a creature without even feeling the effects of its power…he is truly powerful, Sirius, more so than the king of serpents, more so than even the great Albus Dumbledore."

Sirius had turned his attention away from Salazar and was looking at Harry with an unreadable expression. "You didn't tell me," he said finally.

"He didn't know," Salazar countered before Harry had a chance to reply. "The all powerful headmaster recognised my claim on him, knew of his power, and knew, most importantly, that were he ever to die, then so Voldemort would fall with him."

"The trials." Sirius croaked, obviously piecing things together. "Each year the dangers…"

"I'm not exactly fond of him at the moment," Harry bit out, before turning to Salazar. "But neither am I of you."

"I know, little one," he said with a slight smile. "But I did not betray you knowingly."

Harry bit back the first thing that came to mind in search of something more polite. Salazar's smile widened. "You still want me to kill her," Harry ground out.

"I want you to survive," Slytherin corrected. "That is all."

"Traditional burial rites," Sirius murmured, as if from far away. "'May the light throw darkness so that you may dissolve into shadow'…" he trailed off thoughtfully.

"Ah yes, Sirius," Salazar agreed. "I see you have remembered the crucial line. But it was not possible for us to specify that the death must occur at the other's hand, for that could bring to rise a reversal such as in Sybil Trelawney's prophecy, so we consoled ourselves with the stipulation that only one must die. We came to much the same conclusion with the prophecy as we had in our own lifetime, yet one dying was all we were able to secure. Death, in particular, is difficult to induce in prophecy, and we could not risk an error."

"How…?" Sirius muttered, still apparently caught in thought. "But…Harry can't die unless Voldemort…"

"It is not balanced in the little redhead's favour," Salazar agreed. "But given the choice, you would no doubt wish to see your godson survive, hmm?"

Sirius appeared openly torn, no longer making an effort to hide the emotions that flitted across his face.

"Ginny won't die," said Harry quietly. "I won't let her die. If she lives and Voldemort dies when I go; it isn't much of a choice."

Salazar chuckled. "You are stubborn, little one, but it is left to Fate to decide. As I have already told you, the odds are against her."

"The arrangement of the prophecy," Sirius began doubtfully before Harry cut him off.

"Has nothing to do with it!" he snapped. "She's not going to die; I'm not going to die. Screw prophecy! None of it means a damn thing, does it? It doesn't even have to refer to us!"

Sirius looked troubled, opening and shutting his mouth as if where going to say something, but Salazar merely smiled.

"As I have said, little one, it lies in the hands of Fate now. We will simply wait for it to play out. Now," he said, "I wish to speak to your godfather alone."

--

Harry stood in the hallway again; Anguis wrapped comfortingly round his neck. He was crooning calming things in Harry's ears, for which he found himself increasingly grateful. He hadn't wanted to leave, but as Sirius had agreed too, it would be childish to simply sit by the door and listen in.

Salazar would know, anyway.

Instead, he was standing in the derelict hallway, wondered just what to do. He could go and sit in the filthy, dust encrusted dining room to his right, or he could wander the house until he encountered someone else, Tonks perhaps. With a sigh, he leant back against the wall unthinkingly, and then jerked forwards and cursed as one of the portraits tumbled to the floor with a loud clatter.

"Fuck," he muttered, stooping to pick it up, but his fingers never even reached it because at that moment the black curtains that had been covering the largest portrait flew open and furious screams took over.

"HALF BREEDS! FILTHY MUTANTS! MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD-TRAITORS, DEFILING THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK! BE GONE!"

Harry jumped about a good foot backward at the outburst, staring wide-eyed at the portrait of the old woman that was still busily yelling obscenities. Anguis reared up into a defensive position and hissed threateningly, and Harry watched as the woman seemed to become derailed from her diatribe.

"Er…sorry, did I disturb you?" he said with a frown. The woman sneered down at him.

"Another little mudblood then, come to pollute my house?" she spat. "Come in with the repulsive filth of my flesh I used to call 'son'? How dare you enter my home!"

Harry raised an incredulous brow at her. "I think not," he snapped. "Who are you anyway?"

The woman drew herself up to her full height and looked down at him with a good deal of contempt. "I am Laburna Black, matriarch of the most ancient and noble House of Black. Who, pray, are you?"

Harry was very, very tempted to say 'heir of Slytherin', but checked his tongue just in time, however satisfying it would have been to humble the woman. "A Slytherin," he said idly, playing the game of misdirection. "Visiting. I'm curious though, was it you who cast all the Dark spells here? There are some of them that are very skilful."

Time to turn on the charm, Harry mused as the portrait seemed to preen. He had nothing better to do than butter the woman up until Sirius and Salazar had finished after all, and he had a feeling that they were going to be a good deal of time.

"Of course not boy," she scoffed. "They are the work of generations stretching back to the time of the Founders themselves!"

"Your family was around when the Founders were?" Harry asked, affecting awe.

Laburna gained a rather haughty, pleased expression. "The most noble and ancient House of Black is just that - _ancient_. This property has obviously not been around since then, but generations have added their spells."

"I'm very impressed," Harry told her truthfully. "The wards are really something, and was someone dabbling in Shadow Magic?"

Laburna's eyes sharpened onto him. "How did you know that?" she snapped.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and smiled ruefully. "I had a little trouble with Shadow Magic myself. It got rather…out of control."

Hearing this, the woman smiled genuinely for the first time in which he'd seen her, eyes picking up dark shades. "Shadow Magic was a fondness of mine, I confess," she said slowly, before crooning, "And the poor darlings just left here, without enough magic to keep them going among these _filthy half-breeds_!" She ended up spitting the last bit out.

"You must have been very good at it, to manage to keep them under control," Harry said, injecting a slight hint of reverence into his tone and adding a tentative slight smile. "I was…well, I was trying to tame mine, but…it got a bit out of hand."

"_Tame_ it?" Laburna repeated scornfully. "Shadows aren't things you can _tame_ boy. You let it think it was better than you, no doubt. They're like _curs_, although not nearly so placid. Show them who's the alpha and they'll stay loyal for as long as you can prove it."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, and chose his next words carefully. "You must have been a Master of the Shadow Arts then."

"There are no 'Masters' in the Shadow Arts," she said watching him with piercing eyes. "There are only those who survive, and those who don't."

"I was wondering…never mind," he said dismissively, flicking a hesitant glance up at the portrait. "You'll just think me silly for asking."

"Go ahead boy, ask your questions," she said with a careless flick of her hand.

"Well," Harry began, "as I said, I was trying to tame the shadow, but…it went wrong. In the end, I fed it too much magic for it to escape, and…it was sucked into my magic."

Laburna's eyes widened in surprise, before taking on an eager glint. "Your magic, you say? There are many things you can do with that, if it doesn't kill you, many things. Most are too fearful to risk their lives in pursuit of power, but you…"

She trailed off, looking at him with a mixture of calculation and keenness.

"What I don't know is how I can control it-" Harry started, breaking the silence.

"Quiet boy!" she snapped at him, cutting him off. "I'm thinking. There are many things you could do, dangerous and powerful things…you could easily use my little shadows, and purge the house of this filth, the rotten fruit of my loins…"

Harry was becoming increasingly aware that no matter how sane Laburna Black appeared at times, she wasn't the most stable individual by any means.

"Raise it," she commanded at last.

"What?" Harry asked, taken by surprise.

Laburna gestured at him with impatience. "Raise the shadow from your magic. That is where it inhabits now, isn't it? Raise it."

Harry looked at her hesitantly. "Won't it overpower me? I mean…it was feeding on my magic before-"

"Do you know _nothing_ boy?" she snapped in irritation. "The shadows survive off your magic! It's your willpower that commands them! Raise it now!"

With a last sceptical glance at the portrait, Harry sat himself on the bottom step of the stair and let Anguis slither invisibly from his neck.

"_You probably won't want to stay around for this,"_ he whispered to it.

"What was that boy?" Laburna asked. "You're dawdling."

"Nothing," Harry replied meekly, turning his attention inward.

"_I will stay and watch, amigo, and summon the dead one if you are dying,"_ Anguis told him bluntly. There were times when Harry didn't always appreciate the serpent's unvarnished viewpoint.

Closing his eyes, he reached into the depths of his magic, blackest of black, deepest waters. Where the light no longer penetrated, where he was surrounded by silky, inky darkness, he searched for the shadow. It was strange for him to reflect back on the times when the 'lake' had been a mere idea, when now it was so real. Just like his mindscape, what had started as a simple image that held the same frailty as a daydream, as if he could be tugged from it at any moment, had evolved into something _real_, something _tangible_. He could feel the way his magic changed in shape and consistency just as he could feel his skin becoming softer over his wrist, and the slightly callused skin on the tips of his fingers. He could sense the shadow near him, hiding in the deeps of his magic, watching him, aware of him, waiting to see what he would do before it would act. Harry guessed that being sucked into this dark place had left it with a sense of caution.

Remembering Laburna's scant instructions, he focused on his will rather than his magic. He wanted it to rise with him, emerge into the open, come into the light, visible and exposed.

The shadow fought.

As if he were dragging a recalcitrant dog along on a leash, he forced it along, feeding his irritation into the mix and trying to enflame his anger. How dare something so little, so inconsequential ignore his wishes? As if that were the tug on the proverbial rope, Harry felt the shadow emerge around him, and opened his eyes to black smoke.

He had expected it to be soft around the edges, or cast onto the floor like regular shade, but instead it clung around him, to his skin and pores with a texture like black velvet, coiling in gentle plumes as mist did. It had obviously gorged itself on the darkest of his magic, because it stretched huge and bloated like some leech supped on blood. Beyond the heady rush in his veins, he could hear Laburna crooning in delight.

"-a beautiful one, very old, very venerable. Ancient, most likely. Oh, where oh where did you find such a thing?" she crowed.

"The age has an effect then?" Harry heard himself ask distantly, voice barely permeating the thick folds of shadow. The creature, because he supposed that was what it was now, didn't seem to appreciate the light. It pulled as far back into the other shadows as it could go without losing its hold on Harry's skin, and he realised with a start that he could feel it, a kiss on his flesh like the finest threads of silk, barely there but for a faint, lingering presence.

"-it has an effect," Laburna sniffed, although there was the faintest hint of respect in her voice. "The oldest shades are the most powerful, and I have no idea where you would have gone to find one such as this. They have to stay undisturbed, you see."

Fleeting ideas of travelling to Stonehenge and stealing the shadows that clung to the undersides of the stones, or some of the barrows that had been discovered just recently, or even different countries! Oh, there must be such a variety of shadows nestled in places so tucked away from the world that they had remained undisturbed since the world began. He'd be able to capture them and keep them, and he felt the shadow slung around him rumble soundlessly across his skin in agreement – it wanted others to merge with and contend with, to keep it company in the depths of his magic, and even now it was edging towards one of the smaller shadows that barely had enough magic left to move.

"No!"

Harry was jerked from his thoughts by Laburna's cry, and he realised that his shadow had darted forwards as quick as a striking snake, flaring out just as it had done when he'd first fed it his magic, and was consuming a small shade just behind him.

"Stop it eating them you blasted boy!" Laburna shrieked. "Stop it this instant! If it grows any bigger even you won't be able to handle it! I won't have a dead wizard in my house nor an escaped shadow!"

Snapping back to attention, he found that he had been drifting again without his notice, and with a stab of anger he reigned the creature back in, taking the smaller shadow with it. Growling out loud, he forced it back down from the surface of his skin into the black of his magic once more, but it was like trying to force a sleeping bag back into it's case because yet more seemed to be there, and the amount left never diminished.

When it was finally tangled back in the magical reservoir, Harry collapsed on the stairs with a sweating brow.

"Salazar's toil!" Laburna exclaimed. "What a beauty! What a _monster_!" Harry raised his head to shoot her a weary look. "You've been letting that thing grow and feed out of hand haven't you? Did you not even think to restrain it boy?"

"I don't exactly know much about Shadow Magic," Harry bit out, running a hand through his hair and wiping his brow.

"Then you're going to learn," the portrait said decisively. "Can't let you go running around with that uncontrolled, can't let my pretties decay either. You'll come back here, and you'll learn, you hear me boy? Take on my darlings and you can rid the house of that infestation of half-breed scum and blood-traitor spawn. Yes, they'll see, they'll get their rightful due…"

"What the _devil_…?" said a surprised voice from his left, and Harry turned to see his godfather staring incredulous at the portrait.

"FILTH!" Laburna cried upon seeing Sirius. "TRAITOROUS FILTH OF MY FLESH!"

With a vicious jab of his wand, Sirius stunned the portrait and attempted to drag the curtains back over her slow-motion screams as the Stunner wore off.

"Come on Harry, let's go."

--

"You met my mother then," he said with a sneer as they moved back to the kitchen.

Harry laughed, despite himself. He'd missed Sirius' humour. "She didn't seem too bad, for a portrait."

Sirius shot him an incredulous look. "You didn't have to live with her for the first sixteen years of your life."

Harry snorted. "No, I had to live with the Dursleys." Seeing guilt marring his godfather's features, he hurried to dispel it. "Don't give me that Siri, they were horrible, I'm not living with them anymore, end of story. It's fine."

"I should have been there for you," Sirius said quietly, pushing open the door onto an empty kitchen. It seemed that Salazar had departed.

With a sigh, Harry slumped into a chair, deliberately picking one at the opposite end of the table to where they'd sat last. An empty glass at Sirius seat was testimony the talk he hadn't been privy to, and he watched in silence as his godfather picked the glass up and went to refill it. He didn't want a reminder of Salazar any more than he could help it.

"Did you want some?" he asked as an afterthought, looking up from where he had buried his nose in one of the cupboards. "You're old enough to drink now, I'd say, and drinking all my mother's very expensive booze is as good a way to pass the time as any. Pisses her off no end."

Nodding, Harry said, "I take it you two didn't get along that well then?"

Sirius walked over and pushed a glass into his hand, taking the chair next to him. "That's an understatement if I ever heard one. I ran away as soon as I could. Burnt my name off the tapestry, stupid bitch." With a growl he downed a large gulp of his drink and stared out over the table into space.

Harry took a sip of his own drink. It wasn't a taste he recognised, nor was it the same brandy Sirius had been drinking from earlier. His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Sirius muttered "Distilled August Snappers. Spent a fortune for this batch."

"What tapestry?" he asked lightly. Sirius scowled.

"The family tapestry. Not like I cared much for it, but it made keeping the Black fortunes out of my 'dear cousin's' hands more difficult than it should have been," he grumbled, taking another swig of his drink.

"Cousin?"

"Bellatrix and Narcissa," Sirius sneered. "The only good that came out of aunt Druella was my cousin Andromeda. Of course, they disowned her too."

"Your family sounds even nicer than mine," said Harry dryly. Sirius gave him a humourless grin.

"Oh, you have no idea." He stared contemplatively into his glass, and Harry could see a warped reflection of his face shining back at him. "She married Ted Tonks, and they had Nymphadora. Bet old mum doesn't like the way the family's turned out."

Harry only nodded mutely and took another sip of his drink, consuming it slowly, as if he were balancing his godfather's swift gulps by spacing his own out.

"I don't like him, you know," Sirius said after awhile. Harry didn't need to ask who 'he' was. "Don't know how you can stand him. Slippery bastard." He paused with a deep sigh before saying softly, "I don't know what to do, Harry. I've screwed up, big time with this one. Went and got my fool self trapped in Azkaban for the first twelve years, and now I wasn't around enough to keep you out of all this mess." He took a deep shuddering sigh, but didn't turn to look at him as Harry had thought he might. "I've failed you Harry. I should have been there. I should have ignored Dumbledore's orders and come to get you just the same, kept you away from that Slytherin snake, and now you're all tangled up with prophecies, and…_Merlin_," he chuckled, but it was a deadened sound, "…now I'm still useless."

Harry promptly gave up nursing his drink and downed it in several gulps, the clatter as it was set back down on the table startling Sirius and forcing him to meet his eyes.

"You haven't failed me yet," Harry said quietly, before clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's go see what's in that cupboard. I don't think it would be such a bad thing to drown our sorrows."

Behind him, Sirius laughed. "You know what Remus would say?"

"What?" Harry asked, frowning at the faded label on the dark tinted bottle. "What's this?"

Sirius' reply was derailed, and he got unsteadily to his feet to have a look. "Maybe Firewhiskey? She never did drink it, so it's probably still here…"

"Hmm," Harry hummed, putting it to the side to continue rummaging. "So what would he say?"

"What?" Sirius looked confused. "Oh. Remus would tell me 'Sirius, old fellow," he began, miming Remus' voice with surprising accuracy, "drinking isn't going to solve your problems. You should go upstairs and go to sleep, and we'd all be better off.'" He paused with a frown. "Sounded funnier in my head, you know."

Harry chuckled. "Sure it did," he said, pressing a promising looking bottle into his godfather's hands. "You can regale me with drinking stories when we're properly drunk. Now, pour out."

--

Getting drunk with Sirius, Harry mused, was probably one of the strangest things he'd done. The world took on an air of irrepressible peculiarity that hung around the edges of his eyes like the blurs he had always seen out of the sides of his glasses. He lost count of how much they'd drunk, or what they'd drunk.

Or what had happened, for that matter.

He could remember sitting at the table with Sirius, making awful puns on his name that involved a good deal of slurring and hand waving, when his godfather had blinked and looked dazedly out over the kitchen, and said,

"Merlin…is that…Harry I think there's somes…somes…_something_ wrong, 'cause there's a fucking snake on the table."

He thought he'd spoken to Anguis, but he couldn't really remember if he'd just assumed that it was Anguis. And then there had been that whole altercation with the Hippogriff, and Sirius trying to feed it his mother's socks, but he mused that that was too surreal to be anything more than a drunken mirage. After all, some of those intoxicants had been rather…potent. Sirius had explained to him about wizarding tradition to feed your youngest cousin things laced with hallucinogens, but then, Sirius had been incoherent by that time, so Harry had interpreted his speech as best he could.

There had been singing too, he remembered.

In fact, he could still hear singing, but it slowly and surely resolved itself into a choir singing Christmas carols, overlaid with Sirius' own rather out of tune humming. The sound made him wince as it came closer, and a hand grasped his wrist and he found himself pulled into a sitting position.

It hurt to open his eyes.

"-on a one horse open sleigh, hmm, hmm, hmmm, hm, hmmm!" Harry groaned and promptly shut his eyes again. "Come on cub, up you get, it's Christmas!"

"…the fuck?" Harry grumbled, covering his ears. "What…Sirius…?"

"Nah, I'm just messing with you," his godfather laughed, pressing something to his lips. "Come on, drink."

"No more," Harry protested, pushing it away. Impatient hands batted his off.

"It's a hangover potion. You need it," Sirius told him firmly. "I admit, I doubt Snape thought that this was the use they'd get…"

Harry downed it with an anguished wince, breathing a sigh of relief as the throbbing in his head died.

It was going to be a long day.

--


	79. Asher Durand

--

--

Hogsmeade looked picturesque as it lay nestled in the valley, the castle barely visible in the distance. It was nearing noon, and the town was bustling with activity, but for Harry it was still far too early. The hangover potions had worked well, but not well enough to keep the ache out of his muscles and head. He no longer felt as if his head was splitting down the middle, but he was left with the sensation of having swallowed cotton wool and wood chippings. Sirius assured him it was normal.

Still, he wasn't sure how he was meant to talk about the complexities of sword making with Asher when his brain was in a puddle back on the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place. Harry had had to explain to Sirius that Anguis was indeed his and not some giant snake that had been nesting out in the house for years, because apparently in his drunken state the enchantments covering him had worn off. Sirius hadn't been pleased, but…well, Harry would be returning to pick it up later, so there wasn't any problem was there?

He'd left to the sounds of his godfather's muttering about 'should have been in Slytherin' over the Christmas records.

Half the day had already been wasted in a stupor as he tried to choke down some food to keep him going, and his appointment was coming up fast. Thankfully, there had been a Floo in Grimmauld Place, which cut down his journey but did absolutely nothing for his nausea.

Turning off the main street, Harry followed the directions Asher had given him to locate his home and workshop. Number 5, the piece of paper in his hand said, and there it was.

The house was unlike the ones surrounding it in that it seemed to fade into the background. It was made of a dull wood that bore signs of weathering; Asher could have built it out of driftwood for all the colouring it had in it compared to the bright buildings that overpowered it from either side. It wasn't, of course, open to the public. Asher had told him that he kept a workshop for old times sake and for the few commissions he still took, _not_ for browsing witches and wizards to come in to buy things.

"Ah, Tom," Asher said, face appeared as he responded to Harry's knock. "Come in, come in."

Harry greeted him cordially and stepped into the house. There was a small room that served as both kitchen and dining room, with the stove and cupboards against one wall and a plain table, chairs and armchairs in it. At Asher's offer of a drink, Harry accepted, and they were soon sitting opposite each other in the sparse room. The house seemed to have been decorated in as minimal a manner possible – the only things that Harry saw were those that were necessary, with no personal touches at all. He recalled that Asher's wife had died, and wondered if this had been a recent development.

"I've given some thought to your idea, you know," Asher said in his soft tones. "It might work, if you had a Master in Spell Fastening to who could work with me. The spells would be disrupted otherwise, when the ore was melted. You'd need someone to keep them steady."

Harry frowned. "Are you sure?"

"As sure as I'm going to get," Asher replied. "Spell Fastening on metal doesn't stick when it's in a liquid state. Then there's the matter of the core."

"You think they'd interact badly," Harry noted. Asher shrugged, tugging his worn down face to one side.

"I couldn't say lad, but I don't think it's going to happen in one go. Projects like this take time, and I'd need a Master to work with on it," he told him plainly.

"If a Master could be found, would you be willing to do it?" he asked tentatively.

Asher leant back and regarded him. "I'm not a young man anymore," he said slowly. "You wouldn't be getting no fast progress on this one, and my time for invention has passed without notice." Harry waited, as he seemed to continue his thought process. "I wouldn't be unwilling. Merlin knows I've had so little to do since…these days anyway."

Harry noticed the pause in his sentence, but chose not to ask after it. "Perhaps, you'd be willing to do two commissions?" he asked. "Money is no object, and I'd be happy for you to take all the time you need with the original idea, but I'd prefer to have a decent sword in the meantime."

Asher rubbed the side of his nose with a pensive expression. "It would be work, but it would not necessarily be a bother. You wanted a sword with a core, didn't you?"

"I did," Harry agreed.

"The cores in swords," Asher said, standing and picking up his mug of tea. "Are not like the ones in wands." Harry stood to follow him as he drifted from the kitchen, down the corridor into a back room.

This was how Harry got a look at the first wizarding smithy he'd seen. To him, it looked like a curious blend of rather dated techniques and incomprehensible magical ones, just as the rest of the wizarding world was. There was no advanced machinery as was used in the Muggle world, but instead there was a simple work block, obviously much used and covered in deep gouges, and had several half finished blades laid on its surface. Over in the corner was something that resembled a forge, although it was obviously powered by magic, and had a large variety of open pipes that whirled around it like the tubes in hamster cages. Scattered about the workshop were various casts, basins and other objects that Harry could only guess at the use of, and along one wall were several shelves containing instruments, bottles, liquids and various powders.

"We'll need to do some tests and see what type of sword you'll get," Asher told him, ambling forwards and humming mindlessly under his breath.

"I was thinking of a rapier," Harry murmured.

He was surprised then, when Asher chuckled under his breath. "Just like wands, Tom, the sword chooses the wizard. We'll see what we can do. Sit, and I'll get you a selection."

Harry took the rather battered stool and perched on it, watching as Asher opened a small chest, which turned out to be far bigger on the inside than it appeared. He lifted out several racks of plain blades and began looking through them, all the while muttering quietly to himself.

"Try this," he said at last, handing Harry a rapier. "We may as well start with what you want."

Harry took the grip of the sword with a frown. "What am I meant to feel?"

Asher merely gave him a faint smile and took the sword from him. "It's like a wand. You'll know."

He ran through a variety of blades, trying foils and shortswords, cutlasses and broadswords, claymores and sabres. Some of them felt strange in his hands, and he found his magic trying to make a link with them, searching for…something, anyway. Asher simply carried on smiling.

It seemed that he was going to run through just as many swords as wands.

Producing another with a flourish, Asher crossed over the room and presented it to him.

_This_ time, Harry felt something wholly different.

It was as if his magic had suddenly come alive, crawling under his flesh and down his arm, setting his veins on fire before winding its way through the sword. The metal began to heat against his hand, warming from the chill it had been to the temperature of his flesh, and he became gradually aware of his magic drawing a noise from the blade, making it sing with power.

"Fuck," Harry breathed in awe.

"Language, boy," Asher reprimanded. "That would be the one then."

Reluctantly letting it go, Harry passed the blade back over. "What is it?"

"The bastard sword. Nice blade, but a bit old fashioned," he said, crossing the room to gather the various blades and return them to the chest. "Still, if you're wanting a sword with a core, then this'll be the one you're getting."

Harry couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. The longsword was nice, but he'd been hoping for something a little more…modern. Cutlasses, sabres and rapiers appealed, because they had a kind of swashbuckling mystique about them. Instead, he'd be looking more like King Arthur or some medieval knight. Not so swish as he might have hoped.

"Don't look so down, lad," Asher said, pulling a pair of tiny oval glasses out of one pocket and setting them on his nose. "This will be your primary blade. There will be others to come yet, if you're planning on acquiring more."

"But they won't have cores," Harry replied glumly, embarrassed that he'd let his emotions cross his face so clearly, and yet hopeless to stop them.

Asher chuckled softly. "Of course they will, if you want them to," he said in his slow way. "You can have a variety of blades, just like you can have a variety of wands. Just because one suits you, doesn't mean that others won't. You've already commissioned two blades from me already."

Harry smiled hesitantly. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to seem ungrateful."

Asher regarded him over the top of his glasses for a long moment before speaking. "The first blade I got was a smallsword. I hated it, but it was a learning experience. Now," he hummed, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to Harry, "let's see about measurements and materials. Stand up."

Harry stood, and soon a tape measure was whirring round his head, Asher taking down the various figures on a scrap of paper.

"Um," Harry began, trying to hold still, "why do you need my measurements, if we've already decided the sword?"

"They aren't all one size," was his reply. "Some of the spells are based on your reach, and the like."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling very stupid.

Asher got up to amble round him and start searching through some of the various boxes on the shelf until – 'aha!' – he pulled one down, and began removing little metal squares from it, all in different colours and textures.

"Weigh these in your hand and tell me which feels right," he told him, rolling the tape measure up with a flick of his wand.

Harry ran through many of the little squares, picking up each one and focusing on it as he was supposed to. Most felt simply like cool blocks of metal against his hand, whilst others made him want to drop them as soon as touch them. After some deliberation, Harry settled on two, handing them over to the sword smith.

"Cobalt and steel? Interesting, very interesting."

"What is?" Harry asked with a slight frown. This was turning out too similar to his session with Ollivander for his liking.

Asher raised his head to meet his eyes with his own dark orbs. "They're an odd pair to chose. Not much magic sits well with cobalt, although much does with steel. It tends to be people with magic on the…darker end of the spectrum who are a good match with cobalt."

Harry schooled his face into blankness whilst he tried to figure out just how much Asher would be able to guess from all this. "Everyone has a bit of Dark magic in them," he said evasively. "'No dark without light', after all."

"Yes," Asher agreed with a sigh, setting the two cubes on the desk. "That is true."

The sword maker said no more on that point, but Harry found himself going through squares of wood, strips of animal hide and hair, and finally semi-precious stones. He ended up with a small pile of items on the bench before him, including the cobalt and steel cubes, rosewood, Persian ironwood, grey birch, threstral hide, horsehair, obsidian, and moss agate. Obsidian, Harry mused, seemed to be a recurring theme in his life at the moment.

"Now," Asher huffed, ponderously pushing the small pile of items to the side, "the core will be more difficult. We can go through the regular ones, but seeing the selection you've pulled out so far, I doubt they'll be good matches."

Harry was soon handling unicorn hair, mermaid scales, a phoenix feather, sphinx claws and a variety of other seemingly standard core material. He felt a vague affinity with the phoenix feather, but Asher brushed it away.

"Unless it's as strong as all the others, then set it aside."

In the end, Harry concluded that none of them were suitable, which didn't seem to surprise Asher in the least. Summoning a small bag from one of the shelves, he unceremoniously dumped the pile of Harry's odds and ends into it and fastened up the top.

"You'll have to head to a regular supplier, or go hunting for yourself," he told him. "There's a small office in Dreamwood Market that deals in cores, mainly for wands. You could give them a try."

"What happens if I can't find a core?" Harry asked nervously.

"You'll find one," Asher assured him. "And if worst comes to worst, then we will use the second best." Harry nodded slowly, and he continued. "I can start some of the work and enchantments with what I have here, but in the end we will need a core."

"I…I think I have a hunch about what might suit," Harry said finally. "I'll check back as soon as I can."

Asher nodded. "Were you wanting anything else made?" he asked. "I seem to recall you mentioning daggers."

Harry blinked, coming out of his thoughts. "What? Oh, yes please." Fumbling in one of his pockets, he withdrew a list that he and Salazar had worked out. They'd agreed on several daggers of varying materials and sizes, a set of longer, handheld knives and a few of the smaller ones, as he'd seen in Salazar's collection. In the end, Harry had sat by nodding mutely, knowing as he did very little about weaponry. He _did_ however, know a little about guns care of Dudley's lingering obsession. He'd been on the receiving end of his cousin's BB gun enough times to develop the desire to know a little more about them and how to avoid them.

Asher's eyebrows rose a as he read his selections, but other than that he nodded approvingly. "For a certain calibre of blade, and for several of the enchantments you want done you will need to have a certificate of approval from the Ministry," he told him finally. "As the regulations stand, unless you have the approval then the blades must be spelled not to harm human flesh. Families are allowed one aggressively spelled blade," he looked up and added, "that would be your sword, but the penalties are high if they're used in any other situation than a defensive one." He breathed a heavy exhalation as he scanned the list again, and absently adjusted his glasses. "You're going to have problems with these," he told him, tapping the parchment with one callused finger.

Harry bit one lip, wracking his brains for a way to get round the restrictions without resorting to less…below board measures. He somehow doubted that Asher was the kind of man to do things illegally, even if he liked you.

"I'll try and get one in the next couple of weeks," Harry said finally. He sensed that he was going to have more than mere 'problems' with this sort of thing, although it could be a simple matter of perfecting memory alteration. As long as the papers are all filled out, everything would be okay, right? At least, he thought they would. Still, he had _some_ principles, and it wouldn't do to end up becoming reliant on such a thing, because one day he would find someone better than him, and he in a hell of a lot of trouble.

Of course, he could do something like that with Asher, but as he thought about it he ended up dismissing it out of hand. It just wasn't fair to the man, especially when he was being so helpful.

--

A little while later, Harry exited the faded house and breathed in a deep whiff of cooked bread coming from a nearby shop. Reminded rather strongly that it was past lunchtime, he made his way back to the Floo Portal, and was soon whirling at a terrifying speed through the network of fireplaces to emerge once more in the darkened corridors of Grimmauld Place.

Contrary to the surroundings, there was a leftover scent of cooked food that lingered in the house, drawing Harry past the snoozing portraits towards the kitchen where, from the sounds of it, several people were arguing.

"-do anything?" Sirius' voice floated through the open door, in a tone that Harry recognised as the one he was using when trying very hard to restrain his temper.

"Dumbledore's orders, Sirius," said another, and after a moment Harry recognised it as Arthur Weasley's. "We wouldn't want you getting hurt, and they know what your Animagus form is. Best stay put."

"I'm going to go mad in here if I don't get out Arthur," Harry heard Sirius say, tugging on his already fraying patience to tide him through. "Everyone's out there, including Harry."

"Harry!" Molly's voice exclaimed. "We _all_ know Harry's out there, Sirius. Poor boy is missing, but there's nothing we can do at the moment! Don't you think I don't know he's out there…and with Ginny gone…" she sniffed, her voice resonating as if it had tears in it. "But it's for your own safety! What would he think if he came back and you'd…you'd got yourself injured, or worse, killed? What would he think then? He's depending on you, though Merlin knows why. For once, try and think of Harry as the boy he is, and not James!"

"GOD DAMN IT!" there was a loud crash as what sounded like a pan was dropped onto the stone floor. "I KNOW FULL WELL THAT HE ISN'T JAMES!" Sirius bellowed. There was a stretch of shocked silence. "James is _dead_, and Harry is alive, but I'm going to be more use to him out there than stuck in here."

"_Don't_ you take that tone with me Sirius," Molly continued after there was a sufficient break to draw breath for what sounded like the beginnings of a full-scale shouting match. "If you didn't just sit around getting drunk all day-"

Harry decided to derail her before she went any further, and pushed the door open as if he hadn't been lurking outside the kitchen listening in. He had the singular pleasure of being able to witness the occupants of the room struck entirely speechless.

"Any lunch?"

A moment later he was buried in a whirlwind of red hair and hugs, and the room exploded into sound once again. It was several moments before he was able to gently disentangle himself from Molly, who was being rather over enthusiastic in her bone crushing hugs and relieved babbling. Not that he didn't appreciate it of course, but she was rather _smothering_.

When he was finally sitting at the table again, Sirius had become rather stony faced. Molly was busily scolding him, but Harry was only listening with one ear.

'_You're coming with me, you know,_' Harry transferred to Sirius whilst nodding absently at the Weasley matron's scolding. In the corner of his vision, Sirius twitched in surprise.

'_Where?_'

'_The caves behind Hogsmeade, first off,'_ Harry told him, taking a bite of his sandwich. '_You know them better than anyone.'_

Sirius nodded contemplatively.

'_It will be good to breathe in the fresh air again.'_

--

The Weasley's thankfully left them to make their getaway shortly after Harry had finished lunch, and so he found himself standing in the rundown back garden of Grimmauld Place, Anguis looped round his neck, and Sirius holding the reigns on an excitable Buckbeak. The Hippogriff seemed as eager at the prospect of freedom as Sirius, and kept stamping his feet and making playful feints at launching into the air.

"_I don't like the bird_," Anguis said finally, having been watching Buckbeak as he snapped at the air. Harry was just glad that he'd covered the serpent in the Chameleon Skin once more. No doubt Buckbeak would be more than happy to make a snack of him.

"_Hippogriff,_" Harry corrected. "_You'll have to get used to it. He's probably going to be staying with us for awhile._"

"_Perhaps if I was bigger,"_ Anguis mused, "_I might be able to eat it._"

Harry laughed. "_You'd have to be a lot bigger."_

"Don't do that," said Sirius from his side. Harry blinked at him.

"What?"

"Laugh like that," the dark haired man said. "In Parseltongue. It's weird."

"You don't think we should leave a note," Harry asked, ignoring his comment and looking back at the house.

Sirius swung onto Buckbeak's back. "Why bother? Come on Harry."

With a shrug, Harry made his way over to the Hippogriff and did a slight bow, which the beast returned, nearly tipping Sirius over its head. Rising up, he took his godfather's proffered hand and pulled himself up behind him. Both agreed that it would be better this way, with Sirius directing the Hippogriff, and Harry concealing them from curious Muggles.

Anguis shuddered against his neck.

"_We will be going up, won't we?_" he asked, dread lacing his question. Harry grinned.

"_You guessed it."_

The ride was thrilling for the first half an hour, Harry rejoicing at the joy of being in the air once more, and Sirius whooping about freedom, but during the journey the sheer joy began to wear down. Maintaining the concealment wasn't in itself difficult, but it took Harry a little while to get the hang of spreading the Chameleon Skin over so much more space, not to mention heating them as well. He was also forcefully reminded of why it was unwise to take snakes flying, or on any other mode of wizard transport.

Anguis was coiled thickly round him, and he had developed a nervous habit of constricting when Buckbeak made any sudden drops or swerves, which, being a constrictor, wasn't very comfortable for Harry at all.

"_You'll have to get used to it at some point,_" Harry told him over the wind. "_Wizards fly and travel a lot. Granted, you've lived on the ground, but you're not going to fall off, and even if you did, I'd be able to catch you."_

"_I am not a thrill seeker, amigo,"_ the snake snapped back. "_You might get some pleasure out of danger, but I am quite at home on the ground._"

Up ahead, Sirius whooped, and Anguis constricted around him again, making Harry's heart beat wildly for a moment.

"_Stop that!"_ he shouted. "_Stay hidden, fine, but cutting off my air supply isn't going to help you!"_

"_Apologies,"_ the boa hissed sulkily, not sounding apologetic at all.

"_Just carry on talking to me,"_ Harry instructed. "_It'll take your mind off things."_

There was a brief pause, before the snake continued. "_You smell different,"_ it said absently.

"_I am different,"_ Harry replied with a smile.

"_No,"_ Anguis replied, flicking his tongue along Harry's neck. "_Not like that at all. Like…snakes, but something else. I was thinking about it when you left me in that dark house."_

"_Grimmauld Place,"_ Harry corrected.

"_Yes, there. Because I noticed, but I couldn't place it,"_ Anguis told him. "_The closest thing I could think of is when snake's mate, and they smell like the other, but that isn't what you smell like, because you can't mate with a snake._"

Harry choked with a surprised laugh, earning him a strange stare from Sirius. "_No, I definitely haven't done that."_

"_But that is what it is like. You smell like another,"_ the boa insisted.

Harry swallowed nervously. At some point he was going to have to explain to both the snake and Sirius that he had ended up acquiring a basilisk. He'd just left it there, hoping that he would return to find the cavern as it always had been, but he'd been dreaming again, of lying in the deep pools staring up at the surface, and he knew that if he went to the centre of his mindscape, the basilisk would be there, reflected. It truly was a guardian, mind, body and soul.

He just needed to figure out what to _do_ with it.

"_What do you know about the Basiliskos, Anguis?"_

--


	80. Conversations By The Setting Sun

-Monday (Godric), Tuesday (Diagon, Mercury and Knockturn Alley), Wednesday (The Dursleys, Dee, Zoo, Azkaban Breakout), Thursday (Dinner with Asher Durand), Friday (Basilisk, Snape), Saturday (Voldemort's brain, training with friends, Grimmauld Place), Su

--

The evening approached gently over the horizon, and Harry watched with heavy lidded eyes as the sky turned from a brilliant blue to oranges and pinks, until it looked like the inside of one of the ornamental shells Petunia had brought back from one of their holidays, the clouds shimmering with soft tones above. Beside him, Sirius was coaxing a fire into life, and Anguis had coiled himself up on a nearby rock to absorb the heat from the flames. Buckbeak had settled onto his haunches behind Sirius watching him with sharp eyes as he worked.

"There, see?" said Sirius, brushing his hands off with a flourish as the flames took to the wood. "Haven't lost my touch."

Harry snorted, turning his head lazily to meet his godfather's eyes. "I could have lit it, you know."

"Ministry sensors, cub," he told him. "Don't want to attract more attention than we have to."

"It's not exactly like I'm going to do this all without magic," Harry said. "Once I've set up barriers-"

"_Ah_," Sirius interjected. "It's _when_ you've set them up, and the good ones take time. 'Till then, we don't want to alert anyone." He raised his head to look at him curiously. "You know, you still haven't told me what you're doing."

Harry sighed, moving from his gradually cooling seat by the mouth of the cave to the fire. "Bases. I need proper bases," he said. "One in Hogsmeade, near the castle, one in the Scottish Highlands, one in Derbyshire and another in the Mendip Hills."

Sirius' brows rose. "That's going to be a lot of work. Generally people just pick up a house to use, like Grimmauld Place."

Harry shook his head. "There'll be houses too, but you can't craft them in the same way. They're already there, and if they're wizard houses then they have residual magic left in them. You don't know what you're getting. Take Grimmauld Place for instance," he said, "the wards are excellent, most complex I've seen other than Hogwarts, but it's filled with things that you have no idea about. Did you know Laburna practised Shadow Magic, and her pets are still there?"

Sirius' eyes widened and then he scowled. "I hate that old hag."

"The shadows are why you can never get the house properly lit," Harry told him, ignoring his comment. "Actually, I'm going back at some point to see if she can teach me…"

"You're _what?"_ Sirius growled.

"Going back, to get your mother's portrait to teach me to use Shadow Magic," he said clearly. "Merlin knows Salazar never touched the stuff-" He cut himself off as he remembered just how much he disliked the Founder at the moment.

Sirius went very quiet, before speaking slowly. "I'll be taking you up on the Shadow Magic later, but at the moment, although it goes against everything I believe to say this kid, but I don't think Slytherin's as bad as all that."

Harry looked up, eyes narrowing. "He's been messing with your mind," he said scornfully.

Sirius shook his head. "He's subtle, but no one's that subtle. If he tried to make big changes, I'd know."

"No, I don't think you would," Harry said slowly, almost sadly. "That's just the problem."

"He told me something, you know," Sirius told him, twirling a charred twig in one hand and staring into the fire. "About the clauses for the Apprenticeship Bonds. He's well within his rights to mess around with my mind, but he's bound against doing that in yours. I know about Apprenticeship Bonds, Harry," he said, meeting his eyes, "and they're designed to encourage a mutual respect and trust. From what I've seen, he wants to nurture that, not destroy it, and he knows that if he messed around in my head then you'd eventually find out. He'd be burning his own boats."

"There's always room for manoeuvre," said Harry darkly. "And he has other agendas."

Sirius frowned. "Like Ginny."

"Yeah, like Ginny." Harry traced spiral patterns in the grit on the floor beside him. "You can't trust someone who has thousand year old vendettas. Especially when they can't tell the difference between their old enemy and her descendant a millennia later."

Sirius stared at him for one long moment, and Harry slowly became aware of a gaze resting on him. Lifting his eyes, he frowned.

"What?"

Sirius blinked, and seemed to come back to himself. "I don't know about this, but maybe it's a test."

"_What?_" Harry repeated, confused. "It wouldn't be…why would he make it a test?"

Sirius shrugged, and turned back to turning the end of the twig to a ruby glow in the flames. "I don't know, but it might be. He doesn't seem the one to do things up front and so…" he grinned ruefully, "so Gryffindor, really."

"Maybe," said Harry doubtfully. "He wouldn't lose anything either way. Either I kill her, or I find a way to cheat Fate."

"Or someone else kills her," Sirius said quietly, and Harry flinched almost imperceptibly.

"Yeah, that."

"All I'm saying is that you need to get whatever's between you out the way as soon as possible. I…" he trailed off, struggling for the right words. "Look, I don't like the idea of Slytherin having anything to do with you, you know that. But, I can't say that he hasn't been good for you. He's…he's taught you to protect yourself, more than anyone else would have been able to. You've changed cub. Not in a bad way either."

Harry turned away, absorbing his words. "Perhaps," he said finally. A stretch of silence strayed between them.

"You need to think big," Sirius said after a long stretch of silence.

Harry blinked at him, surprised by the turn in conversation. "Huh?"

Sirius shook his head apologetically. "Sorry. I was thinking about your plans for building bases," he explained. "You'll have them, and I'm assuming that you'll eventually have people to populate them, but you need to start laying groundwork for that now. Sound out loyalties. Make contacts. Even if Albus has proved to be a manipulative old codger at times, he knows how to spread his resources, and he's got people in all the important departments in the Ministry. He even has Snape in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle."

Harry's expression darkened. "Yeah, well that's a little difficult to do when everyone thinks you're a murderer."

Sirius frowned at him. "It doesn't have to be your face they see convincing them. Besides," he said using the blackened end of his twig to dry idle patterns on the stone floor, "I know all about that."

Harry looked away, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"I suppose we're on the end of the same wand now," Sirius said sardonically.

"I guess," Harry mumbled.

"See, now we're getting side-tracked," Sirius sighed, breaking the silence that was developing again. "I'm too happy to be free to get down now. The point I was trying to make was that you've got a lot more resources than I do. Hell, if you can conceal us so easily, then it's not going to be much of a problem to change your face and all that. The thing is, it doesn't have to be Harry Potter who gathers followers."

"The same thing Tom Riddle did," Harry noted warily.

"Exactly!" Sirius agreed. "Nobody will take somebody like Tom Riddle half as seriously as some bogeyman like Voldemort. He's clever, because he knows how people work. He might be as cruel as they come, but in the first war people were crossing over to his side every day. He targeted those in high places, or with influence, and he could pick out potential a mile away. How do you think he got Snape?" He ran a hand roughly through his hair, tugging out several knots. "Thing is, he had charisma, and a powerful personality. He knows how people work, and tailored his offers to suit them. If they liked wealth, he'd impress them with some opulent meeting hall, or if they wanted respect, he'd treat the, courteously as if he really cared about what they were saying. Hell," he said darkly, "I'd have been drawn in if I hadn't seen the rest of my family doing it."

"He approached you?" Harry asked, surprised.

Sirius snorted. "He approached all of us. The Marauders were some of the brightest, along with Snape and the Slytherin lot. He got some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well. I didn't fall for it because I knew without a doubt that I wouldn't like whatever my family or Snape supported or did, and Lily and James were on the Light side. But if things had been different…who knows?" He looked away from Harry, out towards the sliver of sky at the entrance of the cave. "Maybe if I hadn't met them, then I would have had his Mark on my arm, as much as if disgusts me to think it."

Harry saw him in a new light, the glow from the fire playing over the contours of his face, lending it deep shadow and a gaunter look. As if for the first time, Harry recognised his godfather as a Black. How little it might have taken to change his path from the one he walked now.

"Voldemort might be a monster, but he knows how to bring people over to his side, and it was only the ones he would never be able to win over that he controlled," Sirius told him seriously. "He picks whole families or particular individuals. It will only be a matter of time before he's regained some of what he lost, and we can't keep up. If you want a chance at resisting him, you need to set your sights on some people who could help you, and you need to do it fast."

Sirius' eyes rested heavily on him, and Harry experienced the familiar, almost gravitational pull of the insurmountable task ahead of him. He didn't _want_ to have to do that to people.

"Harry, listen to me," his godfather beseeched him, "I've seen the first war. It was horrible – awful – but I've learnt things from it. You can't afford to be generous, or take time, or let people decide entirely for themselves. In the end everyone will pick a side or they'll die in between, on the battlefields. We made that mistake last time, _Albus_ made that mistake. Everyone was too tired from the war with Grindelwald, and although it wasn't in Britain they still felt the pull as people drained out of the country, and Dark wizards came across recruiting. Albus didn't want to accept that he was facing another Grindelwald until it was driven home without a doubt, and Voldemort is _worse_ than Grindelwald in some ways. Grindelwald did terrible things, but he didn't have the smarts to see the whole picture, and Voldemort did, _does_ even, and he's gone over his predecessor's mistakes to make sure that he does it right this time. He might not reveal himself for years yet, but we're still at war, even if the majority of people haven't realised it yet."

He paused, looking at Harry with melancholy, hollow eyes. "What you're planning is remarkable, but if you let him get a head start, if you let him get control of the wizarding world from the underground before he makes his first open move, then you'll be too far behind to ever catch up. People will be taken by surprise, caught unawares, and they'll be receptive to change. After he's made his strike, then he'll have the wizarding world laid bare for the taking. People will be scared, and they'll cave just because they think it will protect them or the ones they love. That will just be the kick when his opponent is down; all this now is hamstringing them to make sure they can't get away when that day comes. Albus isn't brave enough, when it comes down to it, to recruit people. He waits for them to come along to him, or the opportunity to present itself. He likes to keep debts and favours so that people will feel obliged to help him, but he doesn't actively seek them out. He may have his fingers and toes in every important sector of the British Wizarding World, and several abroad, but he doesn't use them until he's pushed to. It's all underground, behind scenes work. The Order only counters the biggest moves, and even then not when there's a chance there'll be losses. They counter Voldemort's manipulations, not his attacks."

Harry looked at him, stony-faced. "You're saying I need an attack force."

"You need both," Sirius told him frankly. "You're obviously not working with Dumbledore, and from what you and Salazar have said I can see why, but you're going to be at a disadvantage without him if you don't make an effort to catch up. The bases are good, and will provide a whole lot more safety than Albus ever gave us, but he's got the people. So has Voldemort. You can count that even now he's got people doing his work. He'll have Lucius handling the Ministry, others in each department, as you've seen, some in the press, some working on new spells and weaponry, others on bases, recruiting, all that. Their kids will be working from within Hogwarts. It's what we're constantly trying to keep track of, but there's too much."

Harry nodded slowly, wrestling with his mounting despair and winning, a little. "So I need people to help," he said. "I've got my friends, but I need to teach them how to use wandless magic and that's going to take time."

Sirius nodded. "Of course it will, but it'll be worth it. From what I've seen Harry, you have as much power as Voldemort, and an effective way of using it. If any of us could do even half of what you can, then we'd have a good advantage over the Death Eaters. Losing your wand, or your second wand, or your third won't matter, because we won't be helpless, and Merlin knows Voldemort won't teach anyone but his Inner Circle how he does his spells. Even that will only come at a push, because it lowers the power difference. If they know how he's doing it, then some of them will want to overthrow him themselves. He'll no longer be omnipotent."

"Hermione and Ron worked out people who believe I'm innocent from Hogwarts," said Harry tentatively. "It'll be helpful, but I feel a bit bad about sort of…turning them into my personal army, if you know what I mean."

"I do," Sirius agreed. "But you have to remember that it doesn't make it any less their fight. If they believe in you and what you're doing, then it's as much their vendetta against Voldemort as yours. It's _their_ families who'll be threatened and killed, _their_ friends who'll be tortured. They'll want to, and need to know how to fight."

"Right," Harry said, drawing strength from that, trying to fit it into his mind. "Right. But there's just so much to do…"

Sirius smiled, although there was barely a trace of humour in it. "That's what friends are for. They're loyal to you, you know, and they'd help where they could. Ginny went into hiding so she could keep the secret of where you were hidden, not even telling her own friends and family. Molly and Arthur were absolutely distraught. Still are."

"But they're in school," Harry protested with a sinking feeling. "They're actually able to finish their education."

"You know," Sirius began, shooting a sideways glance at Harry, "I don't think they're thinking about that much more than what you're doing anyway. I think they're just waiting for you to ask them if they'll help, or a time when they've plucked up enough courage to come find you themselves."

Harry's spirits rose a little more at that, and then made a sudden plummet. "I have to tell them about Salazar, and the Founders. I've lied to them Sirius. They'll hate me for it, especially Ron."

"Are they your friends or not?" Sirius asked. "Or, for that matter are you a Gryffindor? You come from the fabled house of bravery, and you can't even stand up to your own friends." Harry sagged, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Sometimes, that's the hardest thing, because you actually care what they think of you. All that time in Azkaban, and all I could think of is what Lily and James would think of me if they knew how badly I'd screwed up. Twelve years of it. At least you've a chance for sorting it all out." Sirius looked gloomily down at the fire, resuming his doodles with the twig again. "They'll forgive you, and they'll help you."

Harry swallowed a lump that had appeared in his throat. The 'but I'll never have a chance to ask for Lily and James forgiveness' went unsaid. "I don't want them to die for me Siri. I hope they've got enough sense not to."

"You would for them," the dark haired man observed.

"I don't want more people to die because of me," he said quietly. "My parents and Cedric were enough."

"People will die Harry," his godfather said slowly, in a strange echo of Salazar's words. "It's inevitable. Terrible things happen in wars, and people die. All you can do is learn to accept it, and swear to murder the bastard that does it to them." A fire had appeared in his godfather's eyes at the last words, and he could easily guess who he was thinking of.

Harry remained silent. There was truly nothing he could say on that. Sirius was right, he knew in his bones, but it wasn't something he wanted to either accept or face. "I'll get this base built first," he told him finally. "Then I'll talk to them."

"Have you got any plans for the protective spells?" Sirius asked, following the change in subject with nothing more than a strong glance that made him sure that his godfather would make _sure_ that he told them. "Or even the structure?"

Harry frowned and rummaged in one pocket, withdrawing his rather battered leather journal of ideas. "Some, but I wasn't so sure about the structure," he admitted. "I wanted to build the base so that the people inside have the tactical advantage, but I don't know much about that."

"Remus is good with strategy," Sirius said, a little worry creeping into his tone at the mention of the werewolf. "But James was always the best. He'd think up the plan, Remus would work out how to do the spells and things, I'd carry it out and the rat would keep watch. We got the pattern down after the first year, and stuck at it right through to the end. Even in the Order," he murmured.

"Maybe Ron would know," Harry mumbled. "Chess is pretty strategy based."

Sirius laughed hollowly. "Chess doesn't make him good at strategy. Spells and real fights work in a different way to that. Besides, chess is the big picture, isn't it? Not really good for working out what angles to put the walls at so that spells reflect back towards their casters is it?"

"Damn," Harry grunted. "Who do I go to then?"

Sirius shrugged, chucking another stick on the fire. "As I said, Remus is good with that sort of stuff, but he's struggling away with those werewolf bastards." A hint of bitterness had crept into his voice, and Harry found himself wondering just how badly he was hurt the previous time.

"Why does he keep going back?" he breathed.

"Because he's a fool," Sirius snarled. "And one day he's going to get his fool self killed by doing what he thinks he should instead of what he actually can."

"Get him to come back," Harry pleaded. "There's got to be a way, hasn't there? Merlin, I don't care if I have to change around their brains, but he can't be killed."

"Owls won't be able to reach him," Sirius said despondently, almost as if he hadn't heard Harry, but had processed his statement subconsciously instead. "Werewolves like to live in places that are Unplottable, so the Ministry can't track them down if they injure people during the full moon."

"So all we can do is wait," said Harry quietly.

"All we can do is wait," Sirius agreed.

The silence stretched between them, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually Harry roused himself enough to summon Dobby and Winky to ask if they could bring them a little dinner, which they were soon eating mutely in the darkened cave. It was the same cave that Sirius had used in his fourth year, but he assured him that there were others around it. This was merely the most accessible, as the others had entrances too small for a human to get through, although Sirius had been able to squeeze through with his thin frame as a dog. Apparently they had had patches of damp, where water leaked through the rock, and in one place formed a narrow trickle from the ceiling, which was only a few feet off the ground. Still, over time the water had obviously eaten away into the stone to form the cave that was there now, and Harry planned to investigate thoroughly before he began any building, which would of course set him back by several days from his plan. He was going to have to deal with things he hadn't even thought about now that he was actually here, whilst juggling everything else on top. Perhaps it would be best to get his friends' help after all. Besides, he would be able to help them train better that way.

Sirius, he noticed, still tore into his food as if it were vanishing as he ate. He realised that it was perhaps a trait that would never leave him after his stay in Azkaban. He was currently gnawing on the bones of the chicken he'd eaten, worrying the last bits of flesh off, even though he'd finished a hearty meal. At least the haunted look hadn't returned to his eyes since they'd left the house, his imprisonment instead resolving itself into a strong appreciation of food. Harry didn't think he'd be able to retain the same health of mind as Sirius had through all that. To be subjected to twelve years in Azkaban, and then locked away in a house he hated, filled with the same ever-present darkness of the prison? It would have driven him out of his mind, if nothing else did. Perhaps it would have, if Sirius hadn't left with him when he did.

Finishing the last bite of his meal, Harry flipped through the pages of his journal until he found the brief plans he'd sketched out for the base. Creating a quill with a flick of his hand, he did a rough sketch of the hillside shape now that he had seen it again, and tried to imagine how he was going to build the base. Extending his magical senses further, he concentrated on the formation of the rock around them, sounding out the locations of the caves and faults in the rock. Meanwhile, his hand moved to sketch out what he saw, drawing on his magic to accurately represent what he imagined, as he had the first time he'd tried drawing in Salazar's rooms.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that he had a good rough diagram of the hillside. However, in the spirit of his mental work into 3D projections, he raised the magical mask around him, and tapped the page, adding a twist of magic to make the inky lines rise out of the parchment and upwards, forming a far more useful representation of the hillside. Biting the end of his quill thoughtfully, he gestured to give the lines a slight glow, and began to play around with the various layouts he'd planned.

He had wondered about building it on a sort of vertical arrangement, as there were both caves above and below where he was in the hillside, and it would provide a better tactical position than if it were on a more lateral construction, but it would be difficult to win back if an enemy _did_ get complete hold of it. He had to remember that whatever he built could be used against him, if worst came to worst. Which meant, of course, that he would have to find a way for his people to move around the blocks and twists that were designed to confound the enemy.

The answer struck him as he remembered his mindscape.

He was quite capable of walking through the walls of stone, indeed, they shifted and moved around him as he went, providing the exact advantage that he was trying to engineer here. However, they were keyed to him, his personality and who he thought he was, reacting to him just as faithfully as his own skin and bones because it was _part_ of him. To change the walls so that they worked for many people would be very difficult; nigh on impossible unless all these people had something in common with each other that could be used as a means of identification. Something that couldn't be stolen or forged, as talismans or keys could. Things that couldn't be lost or misplaced.

A mark, perhaps.

And therein lay his problem. He'd been reminded of it as Hermione was explaining the idea of the fake galleons to him, and had come to further appreciate just how useful the Dark Mark was. However conspicuous, it provided an invaluable tool. Wards could be keyed to it, the image, and specific sequence of magic. It could be used to summon his followers, put them in pain and thusly under his control. Hell, knowing Voldemort it was probably even linked to their life force, allowing him to snap it at a whim, or at least put them in mortal peril. Traitors to Voldemort were far and in between, and those that were discovered never lived to truly escape.

Frowning, Harry sketched a small lightning bolt on the corner of his page. It wouldn't do to mark friends, family, or, dare he say it…followers? The idea that he might have people who were that loyal to him was an unnerving one that he was only just coming to contemplate. He was no stranger to hero-worship certainly, why, the Creevey brothers had been doing it for years, but to have followers who were marked as such? It sent a chill down his spine.

He certainly wouldn't use a lightening bolt – not even he was so foolhardy as to think that such as sign would go unnoticed or misinterpreted. But, perhaps a scar? It needn't be much, only a precise nick of the skin that would be unseen in even the most thorough search. It was easy, say, to hide such things under others or in between fingers and toes. He could use a little cross, or a circle, and it would be merely seen as a strange cut. They wouldn't even have to be in the same place, and they wouldn't have to be signs of binding either. The Dark Mark was useful, yes, but at the same time it could be used with more…equality. Why limit it to only others being called to himself? Why not allow it to be activated in times of trouble to particular places from particular people? It would be complex, very complex, but if he had access to a Dark Mark to study, then parroting the design might not be so difficult.

But then, he would have to think about the possibility of betrayal. Wormtail's actions were a sharp reminder of why it wasn't wise to place such trust in others, especially when there was the capacity for betrayal, willing or otherwise. If the sign could be used to alert people to 'dangers' that another was in, surely then it could be abused and used to summon companions into a trap.

If there were a way to create a mental link too, as with the Apprentice Bonds between himself and Salazar, then he would be able to verify the claim of danger and judge which was direr. He and his companions would be able to co-ordinate themselves more effectively, and synchronise some attacks if there were closer bonds between some. Obviously it couldn't be all comprised of close bonds, or he would have ten or more voices clamouring in his head, but a subtler means of communication, in ideas and images? He was reminded of his brief 'conversation' with Fawkes, and how it had worked in a similar way. Perhaps people could work in pairs or threes, having a close connection between each other, and a looser one to the rest of the group. That way they would be able to match the others' attacks to discover and abuse weak points, working in synch. With pairs, or even better, triplets, then they would be able to work back to back.

Of course, the two had different merits. Pairs would be more vulnerable, firing a third less spells, and if one of them went down, the other would have to be carried away unguarded and open to attack. In triplets, this wouldn't be a problem if one was down, but if it were two? With only one person left to rescue them, in certain circumstances, say if they lost their wands, they would be forced to make a difficult choice.

Harry ushered the 3D illusion back down into the paper and began scribbling his ideas onto the next page. It wasn't long though, before he felt his eyelids drooping, and as he looked across the fire to Sirius, he noticed that the man had already curled up as a dog. Smiling slightly, Harry upped the concealment and protective spells around them, and placed another that he _hoped_ would wake him at the approach of another person. He hadn't had a chance to try it out yet.

Folding the book shut, he transfigured the section of floor around him into a softer surface to lay on and hissed a goodnight to Anguis, who had abandoned his rock in favour of curling up around Harry.

Night closed in, and he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

--


	81. Hogsmeade Base

--

--

Harry was up and working before the sun even peeked over the horizon. Sirius was curled up where he'd left him, snoring gently against his paws. Anguis had mumbled sleepily as he got up, but still insisted that he be coiled around his shoulders and taken with him so that 'the mangy bird won't eat me if I become visible'.

Harry had gone over many protections for the bases in his time in Salazar's quarters, and the first thing that he needed to establish was a magical mask over the entire hillside to prevent anyone, friendly or otherwise, from detecting the powerful magic that he would undoubtedly be performing. The second thing he would be doing, was to secure the area from any visitors that might stumble across it, warding them away. The third thing, of course, were the wards themselves, but they relied on some of the structure actually being built first. To cast them effectively, the base would need to be complete, or as complete as it would get. In the end, he needed to make sure that there were no weak spots anywhere, so that even a mouse couldn't get in.

Or a rat.

The web of spells he planned on using were complex. Some were older ones that Salazar and the other Founders employed in Hogwarts, designed for use in forts and castles that would be stormed by enemy forces. They relied on the planes of the walls, the build of the corridors, and tied into the surrounding shell of spells. Others were larger, and more powerful, providing the basic structure that would support the whole network of protections. Harry had been careful to select Light, stable spells for these, that would mask the appearance of Dark magic. He had no doubts that the Ministry had sensors for that sort of thing, and he wasn't sure how well he would be able to hide high levels of Dark magic, particularly constant ones, such as base spells. Dark magic, in nature, flared and ceased, used for short term battles and enchantments. Any constant levels of Dark magic would alert someone faster than he could say 'wizard'.

This gave rise to a unique problem.

Obviously he needed to build the bases as fast as was possible, but make sure that they were secure and anonymous. As he would be expending large sums of energy on the wards, protections and actual building process itself, this was going to prove difficult. Particularly, as he had no _idea_ what the level of the Ministry sensors were. Surely they couldn't be that high, or he'd be a walking hotspot on the map. Or, perhaps they were only used to pick up magic outside of wizarding folk? However, to Harry this didn't make sense, as he was sure that Fudge would like nothing better than to know exactly which witches and wizards were the most magically powerful, and therefore potential threats.

In the end, this meant one of three things: The first, that his magic somehow masked his presence, the second, that they knew about him and were simply content to observe him for the moment, or three, that he had overestimated and was on the road to extreme paranoia of the Mad-Eye variety.

However, these were all secondary issues. To build the base, he would have to use magic, and in using magic, he risked alerting Voldemort, the Ministry, Dumbledore or all three to his location, which spelled '**Bad**' with a capital letter. Simply put, his protections would be useless if he didn't know what he was protecting from. He might finish his base, only to realise that something as simple as a Dark Detector or a Secrecy Sensor. After all, he was planning to hide a pretty big secret, and the darker side of magic being his forte meant that he wasn't going to be able to easily use only Light spells. Besides, there might be sensors for them too. No, the best plan was a neutral balance of the two, so that the Dark or Light levels read just like the surrounding countryside.

Of course, this all relied on knowing just how these sensors worked.

Which meant he had to find some to test.

Breaking into Voldemort's hideout was out of the question, particularly for something so mundane. It might be important, but he wasn't ready to be locked away for safekeeping any time soon. Dumbledore's methods of detection might be easier to examine, but he knew that the old man would always keep a trick up his sleeve, and he was no more desirous to alert him to the fact that he needed to keep things from detection than he was to meet Voldemort anytime soon.

Which left, of all things, the Ministry.

Now, Harry was only too aware of just what a prize he would be if he were caught, but he also had a second agenda. Inside the Department of Mysteries was a subsection dedicated to spellcraft, and he had not forgotten the brilliant conception of the 'spell within a spell'.

Which was, of course, one of the Ministry's most highly guarded secrets. It was simple reasoning to figure that out. The secret of their success in regulating spells and tracking convicts. Luckily for Sirius, Dumbledore had rated the secrecy of the Order higher than his godfather's need for a matching wand. Sirius had explained that through their crooked connection to the underworld in the form of Mundungus Fletcher, he'd acquired an unmodified, rather shoddy piece of wood to use for everyday spells.

Now, the problem lie in the fact that the Department of Mysteries had high security, and the Unspeakables who worked there were as anonymous as Harry under his various disguises. This landed him with the trouble of either ignoring the whole problem altogether, and perhaps leaving himself open to detection, trying to get past the wards themselves, or going to the inevitable hassle of locating a high level Unspeakable.

Still, he had time. That was why he had picked Hogsmeade as his first stop, because the high levels of magic around the little town and Hogwarts would hopefully take away the attention from his own endeavours, at least until he began casting very powerful spells. He'd be able to experiment with the different wards and find a good combination before he began to establish the larger bases. The one near Hogsmeade would be a smaller place than the others he planned, acting as more of a decoy. The enemy would suspect that there would be a larger base near the wizarding town and Hogwarts for better observation of anything that occurred nearby, and to provide protections if there was an attack.

In reality, it would be the other way round. The larger bases would be those in remote locations, and there would be houses and the like installed around cities and wizarding places instead. Of course, once everything was done, the main base would be the island.

Stepping out into the morning air, cloaked from sight, Harry began to make a cursory evaluation of his surroundings. He'd mapped out the area in his mind the previous night, but he would be tracing out some powerful protective and masking runes in strategic places to provide a good balance. He'd chosen an all round magical mask that was quite flexible and able to adjust and repress the different magical surges to begin with, followed by another three that were far more specialised. The all-purpose one would let some magic leak through in order to adjust and not shatter under pressure as the magical null around Godric's portrait had done. It would be able to hide all levels with relative ease, but there would still be some leakage.

The second magical mask would deal with low level magic such as cleaning spells and summoning charms, effectively 'blocking' the cracks left in the all-purpose mask. The third would deal with midlevel magic, such as that required to move large sections of stone about, and the lower level wards. The fourth would mask the high level surges such as powerful wards and the actual melting of rock into its molten form. Over all of that, he would layer another stronger but rigid mask that would hopefully catch any of the stray threads of magic that the other wards couldn't contain. The rigid mask would shatter under pressure, but the others below it would hopefully contain and dissipate enough so that it wouldn't reach that level, and there would be enough of a resistance to completely block off all magical emissions.

That said, it would take him the day to even complete the first four, and another good portion of time to secure the last.

Which meant that he should start doing it instead of dawdling around on the hillside.

For the first mask, he selected three above ground locations, and three under the earth for the points of the spell. That would allow the mask to take on a flat top over the surface of the hill, which broadened down to a larger triangular base far below the ground. Harry estimated that the proportions of the space he had outlined would be enough to fit his base in, and the nature of the masks meant that he would be able to modify them with relative ease. Or at least, all but the last. That would be the weak link in the chain, but he would hopefully be able to reinforce it. As long as nobody was coming along and performing mass ritual sacrifices in the area, then it would stand.

Fumbling in the pocket of his cloak for the book he needed, he flipped to the pages he had marked with a tiny thread of magic. Extending the area of concealment around him, he sketched three runes: 'Flexibility', 'Secrecy', and 'Suppress'. Twirling his fingers, he bound them together and sunk them into the stone under his feet, where they flared for a brief moment before becoming dormant. He repeated this for the last two times in a large triangle over the top of the hillside, before activating them with a snap of his fingers. Sensing their sister symbols, they joined with threads of magic between them, creating a triangular plane of protection.

Then came the harder part.

Making his way to the base of the hill, he felt with his magical senses until he surmised that he was at the closest point to his desired location for the first set of runes on the base points. Repeated the symbols he had on the top of the hill, he sunk them diagonally downwards into the rock until they arrived at the place he wanted them to be.

A good forty minutes later, he had scrambled and traversed the hillside until he had reached the opposite side of the rocky face. Repeating the runes again, he sunk them into the stone, forming the second point. Pausing to take a breather, he noticed that the sun had risen whilst he worked, and was now merrily glinting out from behind a bank of clouds. Spreading his magical senses, he found that Sirius was still asleep, although Buckbeak was scratching around the cave looking for food.

With a sigh, Harry stood once more and began the trek around the hillside to the last point in the base triangle. On the way he chatted to Anguis, who was still rather in awe of the fact that he was the bonded of the King of Serpents. Now he had woken up, he could remember his manners, and was positively subservient until Harry snapped at him.

The third point was secured with a relief, and Harry watched with bated breath as his magical senses told him of the threads connecting through the base plane of the mask, and then shooting upward to join the corresponding triangle, forming a sort of flat topped, three-sided pyramid. It flared magically for a moment, before absorbing the magic it had just released, and appearing as a sort of negative to his senses.

Relieved, Harry sank to the ground. All that remained now were the next three specialised masks. Due to their speciality, they had to be applied differently. Instead of having key points, they were applied in a circle that would form the midpoint of a sphere that arced above and below. This meant that Harry would be circling the entire hillside at one level, sketching out a string of about a thousand long procession runes. He'd opted for the altered version, where he would combine all three levels of masking into one circle, rather than circling the hillside three times. Of course, this meant that he would be stopping to draw out runes every metre or so, rather than every ten. He would also have to travel back to the previous points to layer a 'Connection' symbol over the now activated runes before he completed the circuit, so that the trio of wards would mould more to the shape of the flat topped pyramid than a sphere.

A few hours later, when Sirius awoke and bounded down the hill to see him, Harry's job was cut in half. The good thing about runes, he mused, was that they weren't dependant on one person to sketch them out. In some cases, when magic was threaded into them more subtly, then it was necessary, but not for something so simple as masking.

A lunchtime they paused to eat, and talk with Dobby and Winky. It was to Harry's great surprise that Sirius suggested that they help, an idea that hadn't even occurred to him. Work was speeded up greatly after their arrival, and they were only too eager to aid 'the great – no – just _Harry_'. The house elves were assisted by the fact that they could 'pop' places, whereas Sirius and he had to trek over the uneven surface of the hillside, although Sirius used his dog form, much to Harry's irritation and his godfather's amusement. In the end, they finished at around 3:30 in the afternoon, and retired to the old cave for another round of food, using the time to plan and brood.

He entertained Sirius with silly conjuring tricks whilst they ate, before settling down to the actual plans of the building. There were certain rooms they would need, like dorms, several spare rooms, a kitchen, a Potions lab, a duelling room, a 'common room' style place for relaxation, a dining room and a meetings room. On top of that, Harry began discussing his plans for Muggle-Magical weaponry, and whether they would need something similar to an armoury.

It was in this way that Harry learnt about the first Muggle weapon mutations brought into war.

"They made some passes at it in the war with Grindelwald," Sirius told him absently, "but he was never really interested in the mix. He went for war and straight out domination, if I've got my facts right. Not a streak of cunning in him at all. Too Gryffindor." Sirius shot him a shuttered grin, which Harry returned faintly. It was a hard lesson to learn, that evil wasn't something that could easily be stereotyped. It had been too easy for him to believe that the only evil beings came from Slytherin, and that mindset lasted right up until his third year, and Peter Pettigrew.

"Voldemort was the one who really got into it, from his lineage, I suppose," Sirius mused. "He would have grown up around the Second World War and been familiar with guns by then. Seen what they can do. He liked the idea of rapid-fire spells, but thankfully he never managed to come up with something like that. The best he could get was the speed of a fast dueller, and while that put some of his troops at a higher level, it drained them faster than the blink of an eye. His researchers never managed to regulate the power outage of the spells, so after a few Killing Curses, the less powerful Death Eaters went out cold."

Harry frowned. "He never thought of just bespelling bullets?"

Sirius grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't get me wrong kid, I'm all for taking down Voldemort, and by any means possible. But that kind of power goes a long way in the wrong hands, and in the last war it was definitely in the wrong hands. I hope to god I never see those things again." He paused, seemingly to gather his thoughts. "They did spell bullets, and tied some of the nastiest curses in existence to them." He laughed bitterly as he caught one of Harry's stray thoughts. "You don't think Unforgiveables are the worst, do you? I saw a man turned inside out with a dormant spell on a bullet. Like I said, not something I ever want to see again."

Harry digested this for a long moment, before saying quietly, "Fuck. It's going to get worse. He'll have all the work and plans from the last time, and people working on them-"

"Some of them," Sirius interrupted. "But Dumbledore's a man to press his advantage when he has one. Whilst he was off checking Godric's Hollow to find you, the rest of the Order were launching an attack on the suspected main power base. They caught them as they were coming out, and the higher level Death Eaters were sensible enough not to leave that kind of work lying around. Some of it, of course, is still in the old place, safe and sound, but the Ministry managed to break in a few months later, and with the raids on the homes of suspected Death Eaters they caught a lot of the plans." Sirius frowned. "I think they got taken into the Department of Mysteries, actually."

"_I_ need to get into the Department of Mysteries," Harry grumbled. "Never mind." He scratched another room into the plan with a wave of his hand. "Something that can serve as an armoury then? Where we can store any weapons or armour?"

"I think it'd be useful," Sirius agreed. "But you'd need to protect it well. No point in the enemy getting in and finding the armoury as the first room they see."

Harry glared at him. "I'm not completely ignorant, you know."

Sirius smiled faintly. "I know." He looked at him contemplatively. "You talk a lot more like him now."

No need to ask who 'he' was. "Etiquette lessons," said Harry shortly. "But I really don't want to talk about Slytherin at the moment."

Sirius nodded finally. "You'll need bathrooms."

Harry added another box into the air, with the label 'bathrooms'. "I always forget about those," he admitted.

Sirius laughed. "Pretty important things to forget. What about a study? People will need space to work."

Harry sketched another room in, and labelled it with a tap of his fingers. "So what do we have? Duelling room, common room, dorms, kitchen, dining room, meetings room, bathrooms, armoury, the spare rooms, a study and the potions lab. What are we missing?"

Sirius shrugged. "I can't think of anything else."

Harry snapped his fingers in realisation. "We need the Internet, and a place to keep and test experimental stuff."

Sirius frowned, having nothing more than a distant concept of 'the Internet'. "Do we really need a room for experiments?" he asked dubiously.

"May as well. We'll need somewhere until the island is finished," Harry said, drawing them out. With a flick of his hand, the floating drawing was rendered into 3D. Separating out the blocks, Harry conjured the area of his magical masks and began to assemble the blocks inside. Obviously things like the armoury and dorms shouldn't be right by the entrance. The most sensible thing would be to not have an entrance at all, but two Apparition points, one for entry and one for exit. The entry would naturally be at the top of the stack, and the exit at the bottom. Deciding that, Harry pushed two boxes to their corresponding places.

He nudged the dining room and adjoining kitchen next to them, and put the dorms and armoury at the bottom. The armoury sat a corridor away from the exit, and the dorms in three tiers beside it. He linked up the little boxes that signified the bathrooms to the dorms, and added a few staircases to link up the corridors. Pausing, he wiped them away with an irritable flick of his fingers.

If he could Fade, then surely others could too? And if he set up a barrier that stopped people Fading in and out, and instead configured it so that they Faded between floors, then there would be no need for stairs, would there? You had to know the place, and be able to visualise it to Fade, and that knowledge could be placed under the Fidelius or something similar. Pleased with the idea, he continued on putting in corridors and rooms. If that was coupled with a kind of mark…as he had been considering, then the residents of the base would be able to use the very walls to their advantage. There would be no need for alcoves to hide in, or doors between rooms, because they would be able to make their own and walk through walls. Hell, they could even use the walls as weapons. He was sure that anyone hit by several blocks of moving stone would be less than conscious.

The potions lab, duelling room, computer room and experimental workspaces were all on the same level. Above that he put the meetings room, nestled in the centre of the 'pyramid' of magical masks, and what would later be joined by wards. He shifted these layers up once more, and installed a common room and adjoining studies that fit snugly around the dorms and bathrooms. Finally he added a few single rooms on the opposite side, the common room in between the dorms and single rooms, with the armoury and exit below. Finally, he filled the gaps with empty galleries and corridors.

He was vividly reminded of the illusion of the labyrinth that Salazar had used. It had become a favourite of theirs, the question: if it caters for all the senses, where does the illusion end and reality begin? It would be the perfect defence against entry and exit. Of course, he could install one around every room, which, while a hindrance, was only a slight one to those who knew how to counter it. As long as they _knew_ that it was an illusion, it would take less than a second to dispel it. To everyone else though, it would seem as real as life. All it would need was a little tweaking here and there to make it look like their companions had disappeared and lost themselves in the distance if they really did manage to break through, so they were left thinking that all of the invaders were still lost in the maze.

Of course, Harry thought wryly, if anyone does break in in real force then we'll be forced to abandon it anyway, unless it's possible to do some skilful memory work to counteract the problem.

Biting his lip, Harry added in one last block, labelling it 'dungeons'. Of course, it wouldn't be in the dungeons directly by the exit, but somewhere in the middle, with a tiered composition.

Sitting back, Harry admired his handiwork. It looked like nothing more than a child's creation of mismatched squares and rectangles, but despite that, it was what he wanted. The more haphazard and confusing the better. With a flip of his hand, the structure jumped, and the rooms all dropped or skirted to the side, creating an even more jumbled structure. Even the walls didn't run straight down as they should, but went in a kind of snail trail downwards. It would be an utter madhouse once he was done. If his companions consented to being marked (he winced a little at the thought of how he would sound when he had to ask them), then even the walls would be movable and shifting. If an attack occurred, they could hide in the bloody walls and drop through floors to counter the invasion. There would be no limits for his people, and all the limits possible for the enemy.

The end result of this, of course, was a tremendous amount of spellwork. But, considering that he had some of the best minds around to help him with it, and four of them had seen a thousand years worth of spells and wards, a good few of which had gone into Hogwarts itself, Harry wasn't so worried.

What he was worried about, was the fact that he wouldn't be able to make each base identical.

Or even use the same major ideas.

If anyone managed to crack one of the bases, and got hold of it long enough to understand how it all worked, then the others would automatically be considered null and void when found. If they had the same combination of wards and defences, then it would only be so long until the enemy became accustomed to the methods used to crack the wards, and that wouldn't do at all.

Which made him rather worried about where all the inspiration for this was going to come from. There were only so many defences you _could_ use without repeating yourself, although magic definitely made it easier.

Still, he'd tackle that when he came to it. What mattered now was _this_ base.

Frowning, he summoned a scrap of parchment and sketched out some ideas for the spells he'd be using. Ultimately, he had no idea of how he was going to get stone to move like water, and unless he was going to learn Stone Fastenings real fast, he was going to need help.

Which, of course, brought him back in a full circle. Everything seemed to gravitate towards Salazar.

Searching for some inwards resolve, Harry straightened out and stood up, startling Sirius who had become deeply immersed in a complicated spiralling pattern that was stretching a good few metres around him. He found himself wondering if this is what he'd done the last time he'd been in the cave. Or Azkaban.

Checking the time, Harry nodded to Sirius. "I'm going to see Slytherin," he said by way of explanation, voice far more steady than he felt, before ducking out of the cave entrance.

--


	82. Reconcilliations

-Monday (Godric, Snape etc), Tuesday (Mercury Avenue, Diagon Alley, Knockturn), Wednesday (Dursleys, Dee, Anguis), Thursday (Dinner with Asher Durand, Personas, Azkaban), Friday (Basilisk, Snape, seeing Ginny), Saturday, (trains friends, Grimmauld Place)

--

Harry didn't head to Salazar's rooms. He was certain that as soon as he had entered the castle, the ghost had sensed him, and Harry knew with all certainty where the ghost would be if he wanted to meet him. In the end, everything came back to the Chamber of Secrets.

Eventually, he chose to bypass the whole trouble of Myrtle's bathroom, and the possibility that it would be seen by errant students, and Faded into the familiar tunnel, just after the cave-in. He could already feel the familiar tug in his mind, the heartache and yearning that he now associated with any prolonged distance to the basilisk. He wondered how he'd managed to get himself into a situation that felt as if he'd given part of his soul away to the beast. After he'd requested that the basilisk guard his more important memories from Salazar, he'd known with surety the reason why he didn't have a bond along with the others in his mind. The enchantments and dreams had made his entire _mind_ the bond.

Harry wondered how Voldemort could ever have left his own bonded to rot in the catacombs below the castle if he had felt anything near to what Harry was at the moment.

"_Master…"_

"_Basiliskos,_" Harry replied calmly, a wave of cold coming over him that plucked at his magic like an enthusiastic child. Harry unconsciously relaxed, and felt tendrils of his magic tangling with that of his serpentine counterpart in an intimate greeting.

It was only moments until he stepped into the towering cavern, lit by the strange glints of stone in the columns and stalactites, and the gentle blue glow that reflected off the surface of the pool. So calm…and so utterly cold. He was surprised that the pool hadn't frozen over in the chill, and wondered whether the icy temperatures were something that only he could feel. But that couldn't be, could it? Because the whole school had felt the Chills.

There was no sign of the ghost for the moment, but he knew instinctively that he would appear. He knew, because the basilisk knew, in the same way that he could feel himself approach from a different perspective, and the pleasant feel of the rock against his scales even as he could feel his own skin raise in goosebumps that were everything to do with anticipation and the feel of magic crackling over the hairs at the back of his neck.

"_You are troubled,_" the snake noticed, and it raised its head from the ledge, the crest topping the pale rock first, then the sloping forehead, and then those fathomless inky black eyes that gave Harry the impression that he was looking into himself, and the tiny reflection in them was a piece of his soul that the serpent had captured between its teeth at some point long ago.

He knew, suddenly, what eternity looked like.

"_I'm troubled,"_ Harry agreed, as he tore his gaze away with great difficulty.

"_Come,"_ the basiliskos beckoned, in the same tone that Harry recalled from one of his sleepwalking adventures, before he'd found Salazar's portrait. Despite himself, Harry found that he was walking forwards, and with a casual flick of his magic he glided up to the rock, until he was level with it and able to step out of the air.

"_You're pitch black,"_ Harry noted absently, and the snake turned, resting its crested head on the rock once more. Harry didn't even stop to hesitate as he slumped down against the lengthy coils, which promptly shifted to curl around him.

"_I am stronger than my sister. She was the weaker vessel, as it were._"

Harry laughed cynically. "_Sexism is frowned upon in today's culture."_

"_I have great respect for the opposite gender. Female snakes are usually the larger, more powerful of us. Nevertheless, she was the weaker._"

Harry let a stretch of silence last between them. "_My reflection never did tell me what your gaze would do if it doesn't kill me._"

The basiliskos shook its head slightly. "_It enthrals you and I, until we see nothing but each other. It is useful for passing information between us, and strengthening the bond._"

Harry glanced at the snake, which was staring out over the glittering cave. "_You're not telling me everything,_" he observed.

"_The dead one told me that you would notice such things,_" the basiliskos replied. "_As I told him, there seems little reason to keep secrets._"

Harry took a long pause and then said, "_Good._"

"_An enthralling gaze can prove a distraction in a battle, but we share great power between us. We could destroy this building and all within it if we wished to die along with it. We could destroy an ancient, when we have grown."_

As if to emphasise this, the magic that surrounded the serpent flared, and Harry felt an instinctive reply in his own, emerging from the darkest depths where the shadow lurked before it merged again. It was intimate in the same way that working on his own mind was, because although different, he could feel that the creature was so similar to him that were someone to attempt to identify them simply by magic and mind, then they would be indistinguishable.

"_Could we create, rather than destroy?"_ Harry asked, a little bit of excitement. Perhaps the tasks he had set himself would not be as difficult as he had thought they would be.

"_If you wish it,"_ the basiliskos replied blandly. After a pause, it continued. "_I believe humans have a fable referring to 'soul mates'. Sometimes you will find others who share the same mind, the same soul, although they are few. You are gifted, to have found one in your life_"

Harry felt a frisson of anger run through him. "_Don't tell me that one is Voldemort."_

"_We share the same soul,"_ the basiliskos told him, voice as smooth as the icy rocks around them. "_And Voldemort is a far different case, although he is encompassed in a similar definition. He may be family, but nestlings fight among themselves. Perhaps you are too similar for co-existence, and in sharing so many similarities you feel that there is only enough of the world for one of you."_

"_Thank Merlin,"_ Harry breathed, before the basilisk's words sunk in. "_We share the same soul?"_ he asked with a frown. "_How is that possible?_"

"_The Basiliskos are bound to be bonded,"_ the basilisk told him. "_It was an after effect of Medusa's curse which still lingers within our flesh. Whether to humans or other creatures, it is inevitable that our other half will emerge within our lifetimes."_

"_Then…it could have been anyone,"_ Harry said, confused. "_How did Salazar know that it would be me and Voldemort?"_

"_The dead one enjoyed experimentation in his lifetime, and we were of great fascination to him. You were told that his life's work was the prophecy, but the Chamber of Secrets and all within was his true toil. We were…altered, in some fashion."_

Harry swallowed. "_Salazar is a Master in the Soul Arts."_

"_You are correct. He changed us, though I do not understand the process."_

"This is too complicated…" he whispered out loud.

_Are you ready to talk my little one?_ murmured a voice in his head.

"As ready as can be expected," Harry replied after a very long silence. "You'd better have a good explanation."

A silvery shape emerged from one of the walls, drifting towards him.

"Then perhaps, it is time that we begin."

--

The werewolf clans in England had been united under Greyback's influence, and even in their expansive hideout, filled to bursting with cubs and men and woman alike, it could not compare to that of France. Greyback, Remus mused, had had a very impressive influence on the English werewolves. If he had been working for the Light, in a fashion that didn't involve bloodlust and slaughter, then they would have a formidable army by now. As it was, he would be glad if Greyback even declared his neutrality. He wasn't the alpha male for nothing, and his vicious nature was renowned even in the lower echelons of his extended pack. He had sired more werewolves than any other, both through bites and women, and, Remus had to admit, he had a kind of crude charisma that made people respect him, if for nothing more than his pure dogged dedication to the task he'd set himself, disregarding or destroying everything and anyone that got in his way.

Of course, he had many other characteristics that made him a powerful leader. His sheer strength and utter disregard for morals had earned him a place at the top of one of the most bloody and violent courts in the country.

France, Remus reflected, was very different. His French was adequate, and had improved under Dumbledore's rambling tutelage. Unfortunately, Albus had a habit of getting distracted by his own eccentricities, and that had had a detrimental effect on Remus' learning.

He did, though, know how to inquire whether his companions would like a lemon drop. If Remus had been less even tempered, he would have been cursing the old man now.

The French werewolves were rather…exclusive. Whilst not nearly as inclined to aggression as the English ones, his lack of fluent speech made it difficult for him to adequately get his point across, which was becoming increasingly frustrating. The alpha male and female were a deceptively calm couple. Marcel Meier ruled with a steel will, and his calm front served only to infuriate his companions. Once set in a notion, no amount of logic or reasoning would convince him, although when he was sufficiently provoked he lashed out with surprising accuracy, whether verbally or physically. In short, he was a tightly strung man.

His wife, Adolpha Meier, had migrated from Germany as a child, and grown up in France. She had a similar calm front to her husband, but she controlled everything from behind the scenes. Unlike her husband, whose confrontations (when they occurred, which was infrequently) were public, hers were all settled quietly and out of sight. The only hints were slight limps among the females, or occasionally the males, and fading bruises. She was a greying beauty who had been in control of the clan ever since she had ousted the previous alpha female, and had remained in power ever since. She was a good ten years older than her partner, who was tanned, dark haired and lethal. It was as if he were being slowly wound up to breaking point before he lashed out, unexpectedly, and because of the extended simmering time, he dealt far more harshly.

Needless to say, the clan had learnt the price of angering either of them.

Remus had learnt this by talking to the younger, more vocal members of the clan. There were three children in the pack, two of which were the alpha pair's spawn, and the other who had been bitten whilst on holiday in Spain. Bebe and Leala were suitably spoiled due to their position, but the pale, waif-like little Faye blended imperceptibly into the background of any gathering, and it was from her that Remus had got his frank, wide-eyed answers.

"Non, monsieur Remmy," she told him seriously, jerking him out of his thoughts. "Adolpha received the man last evening, when you were still recovering. She is always the first to be better."

Remus, despite himself, had become rather fond of the little runty omega child in the pack. She spoke to him clearly and slowly so that he was able to catch every word. Greyback had always told him that he had a misguided love of weakness, and little Faye was on the lowest rung of the hierarchical ladder.

He had quite the history with Greyback, after all.

"So it's come to this," Remus murmured.

"Is there going to be a war, over there in England?" she asked, big, dark eyes staring up at him as she hopped onto the table, legs swinging a little as she watched him.

Remus smiled sadly. "I am afraid there is." His eyes became distant, and he looked out over the room to where a few others were crouched around a table, watching a furious game of Exploding Snap. "And if no one does anything about it, then it will come here too."

"Perhaps they are doing something about it, but…perhaps not what you want them to?" she suggested quietly.

"I don't like wars, or death," Remus replied, "and there will be a lot of it. The peace you have here won't last."

Faye was silent for a long moment. "I trust you Remmy. If you say it is true, then I'll help you."

Melancholy guilt welled up in Remus' chest as he looked at her, so young and so serious, and in the end so utterly useless. He couldn't foresee any good coming to the frail little were-child, especially not if she got herself involved. He felt bad, because as much as he liked her, he was simply using her as the fastest way to get information about the pack.

"You would do best to stay out of this cub," he told her solemnly. "Well out."

--

"The past, little one, is the past, and there is no conceivable way of altering it," Salazar said softly. "All you can do now is come to terms with the consequences of others' actions that are well beyond your control."

Harry took a deep breath, and attempted to wrestle the insults and anger back below the surface. The basiliskos gently moved its crested head to rest over Harry's lap, and a wave of cold calm enveloped him.

"I could learn to hate you for what you've done," Harry said steadily. Salazar inclined his head to him.

"Indeed you could, but there are better uses for your hatred."

"And Voldemort? What of him?" Harry pressed.

Salazar smiled, a familiar glitter in his eye that hinted to yet more secrets left unsaid. "Ah, my heir of blood. There needn't be any change little one, you are quite different after all, and I cannot envisage your views reconciling. Nestlings fight," he parodied the serpent's earlier words.

Harry leant his head forwards until it was cupped in his hands. "Why? Why did you do it? I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't want to be the one who everyone expects is going to kill the Dark Lord. I don't want one of my friends to die because of some stupid prophecy. And all these manipulations…" he murmured with an ache in his heart, "everyone trying to play each other off against each other. I'm not cut out for this kind of fight."

"And yet, you exist as the centrepiece for it," Salazar observed. "I do not wish to see my heirs feud and fight between themselves, yet your natures demand that you must. Voldemort would never allow himself to trust another, and your hatred of him is overwhelming. Even if there were not prophecies dictating your actions, they would occur. Your vendetta against Riddle would drive you to battle him, and your little redheaded friend would die."

Harry laughed, the sound carrying overtones of hysteria. "You make it sound like if I joined Voldemort, she'd live."

Salazar chuckled, velvet noise carrying far in the cave and sending echoes about them. "Perhaps she would. Fate is a whimsical thing."

"How do I know? How does anyone know that we won't die until we've killed each other?" Harry asked desperately. "I could drop down from deadly food poisoning or something tomorrow."

Salazar merely smiled. "You will know, when the time comes."

"Nice, cryptic statement there," he snapped, unable to control his anger anymore.

"Would you believe me, when I have no evidence to give you?" Salazar remarked.

"No," Harry sighed. "I suppose I wouldn't." There was a long stretch of silence in which he struggled to put his thoughts into words. "How…I mean…I trusted you, god knows why. And you…" he trailed off.

"What have I done, other than engineer a prophecy all those years ago?" Salazar asked, his tone hardening a little. "I was negligent in my care, and you fell to a trap I had laid a millennia ago for my dearest Ravenclaw, but that was not without benefit. I may have re-arranged your memories, but I gave you the gift of true magic, hmm? I may have explained to you my wish for the little redhead to die, but a word from you and I will not interfere. I may be the head of House Potter by magic, but have I not been fair with you? I haven't taken advantage of the controls if gives me, indeed, I wait to see the title pass to you. I could have had control of your magic, your life, your mind, if I so wished. You know well the possibilities. I am at your command Harry, if you so wish it."

Harry was left staring, shocked, at the ghost. If there was anything he had been expecting it hadn't been this. "But I…god," he choked. "I don't want that…"

"Of course not, little one," Salazar said simply. "You are almost painfully aware of limits and morals, and give a great deal of respect to those you deem worthy. Your trust is hard won, now that you have grown, but you honour it implicitly once given. In a similar way that I refuse to take advantage of you, you do the same to myself."

Harry curled in on himself again. "What do you want?" he asked, desperation creeping into his voice. "All this stuff, you have to be doing it for some purpose. What do you want out of it?"

Salazar smiled, and as soon as he did that Harry could tell that he wouldn't get the answer he was looking for. "Perhaps, Harry, one day you will realise it yourself. In my time, the four of us wrought great changes on our world, and perhaps you will do the same."

"But that isn't what _you_ want," Harry observed flatly, drained of all fight. "Just explain it plainly for once. _Please_."

Salazar's smile broadened. "As pleasing as it is to hear you beg, little one, at this point in time all begging is ineffectual. It is too soon, far too soon, and you will accomplish my wishes of your own volition." He paused to look at him with an ironic gleam in his eyes before adding, "Trust me."

"_Trust lost is hard regained,"_ the basilisk hissed, raising its head to the level of Harry's.

Salazar chuckled darkly, assiduously avoiding the snake's eyes. "How very true, basiliskos. But I think, perhaps, that my little one never truly lost his trust for me."

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" Harry asked quietly.

"There is always a choice. The result, however, is often the same," Salazar countered, before changing tack completely. "You never did touch that ring again, did you?"

Harry looked up, surprised. "What ring?"

"Your Christmas gift," Salazar reminded him with a strange look on his face. "Perhaps you will remember."

Harry looked away guiltily. "I didn't trust you," he said, before chuckling hollowly, realising the irony of the statement

"Then, perhaps you will wear it now," Salazar suggested, and Harry saw that all humour had left his expression. "You are my heir, and the ring is…symbolic."

"…How?"

"No other wizarding families keep a snake in their crest. That right is exclusively my own, and my descendants. The red stone symbolises a magical heir, and a green stone an heir by blood."

"I would have thought it would be the other way round," Harry remarked.

"Yes, you would think it," Salazar agreed. "But green is to symbolise growth and nature, by which blood heirs are brought forth, and the red…let us say that the rituals for the recognition of a magical heir are red."

Harry frowned. "Rituals?"

"They are ceremonial only, but they acknowledge the babe," Salazar said briskly.

"How can you have a magical heir without them being blood too?" Harry asked, curiosity overtaking the turmoil of his emotions. "I mean, besides my case, which is a little abnormal."

"Indeed," Salazar agreed, watching him with shadowed eyes. "Magical bonds, formed with the intention of inducting another family member are conducted ceremonially during adoption or marriage. Little has changed over the years, but for the minor details."

"The Grey family spells…" Harry trailed off. Salazar's eyes narrowed.

"They pioneered the rituals used today," he agreed. "_Familias Sanguis_ and _Familias Magicus_. The Greys had a habit of binding their family members with spells to ensure their loyalty and devotion to the clan despite that they may wish otherwise."

"Why do you dislike them?" Harry asked, aware that he had become distracted from the issue at hand, and glad for it.

Salazar levelled him with a long look, until Harry bowed his head and turned away. "We will not neglect the true topics, little one, but I will indulge you for the time being. Count Tempus Grey, as a distant relative of my own family, became tangled in the affairs of my close family's death. I did not inform him of the happenings for a long time, perhaps too long, and when I returned Rowena was frequenting similar circles, and indulging in the trappings of the rich. By then, she had become quite a beauty, and he was enthralled by her. He was obviously unable to marry her, as he already had a wife, but he continued an illicit relationship with her, and was blind to my words." Salazar smiled, and it was not a pleasant expression but carried instead a glacial quality. "I admit that I may not have acted most…responsibly…but I was overcome by my lust for vengeance, and that in turn blinded me to the better sides of a man that, though a fool in love, was not without character and educated thought."

"Due to my obvious malignant intentions towards his beloved, he reacted in the only way he could, and inducted her into his family as a distant cousin. In short, she had all the impressive protections of the prodigious Grey family extended over her, which is one of the reasons that I was thwarted in my attempt to destroy her."

"What…" Harry began with a rasp, "what did Godric and Helga think about all this?"

"It would be better if you were to ask them yourselves," Salazar replied blandly. "But, I believe you have distracted me well enough for now. I wish to formally recognise you as my heir by magic."

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips. "You gave me this ring last Christmas," he said. "I could have figured it all out then if I'd shown it to someone who knew…"

"And a note, too, if you will remember," Salazar added calmly.

"You said that you hoped it would help me as much as it helped you," Harry replied slowly.

"The ring is not without its own merit," he said. "The stone set in it was one of my fondest inventions, and I wore them until I died, for my name had become my very own upon completion of my Apprenticeship, and I was the first of my family. Due to my dabbling in poisons at that time, I could see well the benefits of magical detection."

"At that time…" Harry repeated, trying desperately to avoid the topic at hand.

"The Soul Arts and extensive ventures into Spell Fastening were the pastimes of my later life. As a young man, I was intrigued by Stone Fastening, the Dark Arts and poisons, and little else caught my interest."

"But you…" Harry trailed off. "You're quite young…"

Salazar chuckled. "Magic preserves youth, and wizarding kind does not have the same ageing process as Muggles. I died at the age of 57, and the portrait had further delayed my gradual decay."

"Oh," Harry murmured, falling silent.

"Come now Harry," Salazar chastened, "you are dallying. I wish to acknowledge you as my heir. I am proud of you, and your achievements, and I can assure you that I care about you."

Harry quite literally had no idea of how to react to such a proposal, which was one of the reasons he had been putting off replying. The lure of family, someone who indeed cared about him - not only because he was a friend, or godson, but because they were truly family - was tempting. Sirius, Molly, Arthur, he was practically their son for all that it mattered, but he wasn't _really_ family. With Sirius, maybe, but as much as Molly and Arthur liked him – loved him even, he would never be as dear to them as their own flesh and blood. With Salazar though…he may as well be.

And what a strange family they would make.

He hadn't forgotten about Voldemort through all of this, and accepting Salazar's offer felt as if he would be both winning and losing at the same time, which amounted to nothing. He'd have a family, but…he'd have Riddle. No, Riddle had died with the diary, he'd have _Voldemort_, and that thought disturbed him more than he was able to put into words.

"Like all things," Salazar said softly, interrupting his thoughts, "I wish you to take time. You will come to your decision eventually, and we will reconcile with it when the time arises. For now, think on what I've said."

Harry absently traced one of the basilisk's scales. "We haven't resolved anything," he said finally, painfully aware that it sounded plaintive even to his ears.

Salazar regarded him steadily. "If you think over our conversation, you will find that we have, in our own ways. Do you trust me?"

Harry chuckled – he had to. "I suppose I do, don't I? Once again, just like magic."

--


	83. Courtship Rituals

--

--

In preparing to return to the Hogsmeade caves, Harry was faced with a slight dilemma. In light of the fact that he would be able to combine his magic with that of the basiliskos to create the wards and spells he needed, he wanted to bring the creature with him, and it seemed more than happy to leave. However, the Chamber of Secrets was somewhat…lacking…in exits. As Ron had said in their second year, "A dirty great snake…someone would have seen…" And, if he went out he was sure that someone would end up seeing.

He supposed he could Fade out, but he was loath to try it with such a highly magical creature. It would either work…or go horribly wrong. Nevertheless, it seemed to be rapidly becoming his only option. He'd tried modifying his mindscape, but that hadn't worked either.

Casting a wish to whatever Fates were watching over him, he began to explain it to the serpent.

He wondered what Sirius would say.

--

Sirius, as it turned out, wasn't very happy at all. Distracted by his instinctive ranting and raving, Harry didn't notice Anguis' position for some time. The snake had come very close to the basilisk, twining round it, the sound of hissing passing back and forth at a furious pace between them, so fast that even Harry couldn't catch a word that they were saying. Finally, Sirius' tirade trailed off, as he turned to see what had diverted his godson's attention so thoroughly.

Then, just as suddenly as they had come together, they disentangled, and Anguis moved a cautious distance away, eyeing the basiliskos warily. The basilisk, in turn, seemed content to follow it with senses other than sight, and its large, fathomless black eyes were closed.

"Harry…" Sirius murmured. "It's…"

"Mine," Harry finished, possessiveness flaring up inside him. "I'm not going to argue with you about this Sirius. The Basiliskos is mine."

Sirius opened his mouth, and a nervously flicked his eyes towards the serpent and away as if he were afraid that he would meet those glassy orbs. For a moment it appeared that he would say something, but instead he turned towards the cave entrance and the darkening sky.

"Thank Merlin Buckbeak is out hunting then," he mumbled.

--

Pain, Draco mused, had become one of the few dependable factors in his days. It was hard to imagine that it had only begun last Wednesday, but those six days had been torture. When he wasn't spitting out a gob of blood and spittle from a kick in the cheek, he was learning Dark spells and attacks. By personal experience. Rookwood had an interesting method of teaching, after all. His philosophy was that if the caster knew exactly what the victim was experiencing, it would not only allow them greater finesse in battle and torture, but would discourage them from leniency with their curses. Experience, he told him in his rasping voice, would show him just what the enemy would do to him if he didn't get in there first.

Today though, with the morning bright and early, Draco could only feel the ghosts of yesterday's pain in his body as he moved. A house elf had been called to wake him and, he realised, patch him up so that he would look refined and presentable. He stumbled unsteadily out of bed, and complied with weary patience to the house elf's wishes. He turned about, and the elf dabbed a potent bruise salve, as well as a variety of other potions to close cuts and minimise infection.

When it was done, Draco's skin was as pale and flawless as it had always been, aside from the Living Metal. Rookwood had gouged pieces out in order to perform tests on them, and they were slow to re-grow. He hadn't touched those on his face, of course, but the dashes over his collarbone and higher up his arm had been mauled.

He wasn't ashamed to say that he had screamed.

Part of him hoped against hope that Potter…Harry would return to his mind, and give him some sort of hope, or another pleasant triviality. He'd smiled for the first time in months after the last visit.

Stepping out of the shower, he felt the last of the water sluice down his back as he whisked it away with a drying charm. Before, he'd had a fondness for lengthy, luxurious baths. Now, he spent only as long as he needed under the water to become clean. It wasn't a pleasure as it had been. The first thing he'd done upon return to his new chambers was to banish all but the barest necessities. If he couldn't appreciate them, why continue to entertain them?

Grey robes, grey shirt, grey slacks. He judiciously fastened the cuffs so that the darkened tattoo wouldn't be revealed. A twist of his wand set his hair straight and ironed out the creases in his clothes.

He would be joining his fiancé for an early morning breakfast at their home for the beginning of the Courtship rituals, his father had informed him the previous day.

He was beginning to question whether he would have ever had a say in his life, and whether his father had ever had a say in _his_ life. It seemed that everyone was controlled by everyone else.

The travel to the Floo Portal was swift and painless, and soon he was stepping into Diagon Alley. His father and mother awaited him by the Transoceanic Floo, a dark blot against the slow bustle of people going past. His father had always seemed as immovable as the stone of their ancestral home, so part of the Malfoy name that he exerted a gravitational force of respect and power that drew all those around him inexorably into orbit. He controlled them like the sun controlled the planets - burning, eternal and unchanging. He had accepted without protest that his father would probably continue to exist, in that same powerful position long after he was dead.

It was the kind of comfort that no longer existed.

His emotional death had not been relieving, or freeing. It had been excruciating. If he were to take a Time Turner and visit his past self, he would put fear into his younger version's heart. He was ruthless in the worst kind of way now, because he couldn't feel. Everything was siphoned through the wrong end of the telescope, so that he saw only a minuscule picture of the world that he interpreted as best he could.

There were things he missed, and things he saw more clearly. He had merely shifted to a different angle of observation.

He had begun to get a little better at fighting. He couldn't block, or land the single, crippling blow he yearned after, but he could dodge. It didn't do him any good, in the end, to dodge the blows, because the Lestrange brothers simply moved up the stakes until he was battered beyond belief. He'd passed his father after one of the lessons, and the man hadn't recognised him.

"My Dragon."

"Father," Draco greeted him. The gracious incline of the head, deferential without complete submission. His father hadn't raised a servant. "Mother." His mother placed a light hand on her shoulder. He believed that she loved him, despite her cold exterior. They both loved him, but his mother had been the one to comfort him as a child.

The Transoceanic Floo was nauseating, even more so than the coast to coast one in the British Isles. He whirred at twice the speed, for twice as long, until he could see flashes of French firesides, hearths, and then he was tumbling forwards. He crashed into the charms at the opposite end, and they righted him so that he could step out of the fireplace with some manner of dignity.

No one could cross a Transoceanic Floo with poise.

"Welcome to the Toulouse Floo Portal, France," said a witch from behind the desk to their left. "If you would like directions-"

"Thank you," Lucius replied coldly, effectively cutting off any further speech. The witch looked momentarily agitated, but swiftly settled into a polite smile and gave them a courteous nod.

They exited the Floo Portal, and strode at a leisurely pace towards the nearest Apparition point. The Toulouse wizarding sector was surprisingly small, the majority of wizards choosing to make trips to other French cities for more extravagant purchases than the simple necessities that were in the Toulouse sector. This was because, as his father explained, of the strict building and business restrictions in the Toulouse wizarding sector, which ensured that only the most successful shops were able to withstand the high taxes. This, he told him, meant that the shops were either highly successful and of outstanding quality.

The Apparition point reached, Draco dutifully stood by his father, who laid one leather gloved hand on his shoulder, and the other around his wife's waist before they were away, the familiar, unpleasant sensation of being yanked from one place to another at very high speeds, as if travelling through a tube that had room only for his body, and not for the air in his lungs, or, if he had eaten, the contents of his stomach.

They emerged in front of a respectable looking house, where a maid was waiting at the gates to usher them up the broad path to the main building. There were moderate ornamental gardens to their left, hedges neatly trimmed, but Draco could see that they descended into a wilderness of flowers, lime and clementine trees. Somebody in the building was obviously an enthusiastic gardener, and even from Draco's distant perspective, the gardens and building breathed life and innocence.

He smiled humourlessly. That innocence would not remain preserved for long. None of it ever was. Nothing incited destruction and violence like beauty and purity.

A frail, delicate woman met them at the doorway, looking for all the world like the moth wings he had found after the bats had eaten their bodies, pale and drained of colour. She welcomed them in with a voice as soft as dust.

They travelled through the house, which was considerably grand, but had an air of summer carelessness about it, just as the gardens had._ But summer passes all too swiftly,_ he thought. They emerged in a conservatory, where the sunlight streamed down in thin beams of light, tiny golden dust motes hanging in the air, highlighted by the glow. It was at such a position that it would catch much of the sun, but not so much that it would grow hot, and panelled doors opened onto the outside to let cool air into the room.

Food was laid out before him, French loaves, jams, butter, coffee, tea. The smell that assaulted his nostrils was as fresh and warm as the sunlight, and it made him feel as if he hadn't seen the light of day for years. Perhaps he hadn't, truly. He couldn't remember summers so full of lazy tranquillity and floral scent that lingered in the air like this in England.

A maid laid down the last of the cups, and departed, and the mistress of the house – "Please, call me Caroline," – bade them to take their seats.

"Clemence and Armand will be down shortly," she whispered, and Draco noticed that she only seated herself once himself, his mother and his father had. Of course, it was simple politeness when they had guests, but there were signs that told him that it was not so simple as that.

If nothing else, he had to admire how fast his father could put others into a stranglehold, and he could see that he had caught this family by the jugular.

Voices could be heard in the other room, a rapid babble of French that was not so easily deciphered to his untrained ears. He had been trained to speak the language fluently, of course, but it had been a few years since he had last visited the country, and he was out of practice. Still, he caught a few tail ends of the conversation.

"-resign ourselves," a female voice said quietly, before the door was pushed open.

Armand Moreau was a tall, broad shouldered man, with the type of build that seems to take up space, even though he was not well muscled or overweight. He had a reddish brown mop of hair that was receding at the temples and over the crown. Draco immediately recognised that he would be someone who said very little, but that which he said would carry weight. He didn't look like a man to waste his words, and indeed, when he greeted them it was as if he were unused to using the language, although he knew from his father's brief history on the family that that was not the case.

To his right was a young girl, a year below him he knew, but no less lovely for it. She lacked classical beauty, but made up for it with a slender frame and hair the colour of honey. Her face was unremarkable, a little tanned from the sun, with even features but overall rather plain. Her countenance was neither striking nor beautiful, but it was made up by the way she held herself, and looked around the room. She was wearing a faded dress that he reasoned might once have been a pretty red, but had been bleached out through repeated wear and sunshine.

He knew at once that when she returned with him to England, the little piece of summer trapped within her would wither and die in the bowels of Malfoy manor.

"Draconis," she said stiffly, although Draco noticed that she had at least attempted to try and cover her unease and obvious reluctance with a thin veneer of polite distance.

"Clemence," he returned, placing a light kiss on the back of her proffered hand. "Call me Draco, please."

"Draco," she corrected herself.

There was nothing momentous about their meeting. She watched him with an air of resignation that was eerily reminiscent of the faded woman at the head of the table. He hoped that the life in her now wouldn't depart as it had with her mother, but he knew it was a fool's hope.

The breakfast was a quiet affair, with their parents seated at one end of the table making courteous small talk, and they themselves seated at the other. Draco supposed that he should at least make an effort to discover a little more about the woman he was intended to the spend the rest of his life with.

"You attend Beauxbatons, don't you?" he asked, breaking a section of bread off of the loaf.

"Yes," she replied. "I am finishing my OWL's, but I hope to be able to specialise in Herbology in the future."

Ah, he thought, a direct approach. He decided to give her implied question an answer. After all, she had little more choice in the matter than he.

"I have heard that the Morgana Institute is quite renowned," he told her. "Perhaps you will be able to gain an apprenticeship there."

"I would like that very much," she agreed. "I believe that without something to occupy me I would find myself bored in no time."

Draco let a half-smile cross his face. "Yes, that is true."

"And you, what will you be doing?"

Draco took a purposeful sip of his coffee. What could he say? I'm being trained to murder people like your family?

"I will be continuing in the family business," he said shortly. "It does, after all, present many opportunities."

She smiled faintly, and without happiness. "Of course," she murmured. So she had got the hint.

Draco decided to broach the safer, more casual topic of Quidditch. Whilst Clemence was not so enthusiastic as he was, she still held quite an interest for the sport, and they threw the conversation back and forth between them for awhile, taking turns at running through safe, neutral topics. She didn't ask about the state of the politics in England, and he didn't mention their upcoming nuptials. They drifted onto chess, for which she held more of a fascination, to medicines and potions, over a whole range of school topics, comparing the differences in the syllabus, and finally finished up on family. As it was, Draco gained a clearer idea of the structure of the House of Moreau, and she learned a little more about pure-blooded English wizards, whose family size seemed to reflect the frequency the sun chose to shine. In short, very low.

When breakfast was completed, they retreated to a sitting room with broad bay windows and glowing golden walls. There they formally joined hands, and the two pairs of parents cast the spells around them, signifying the beginning of the period of courtship.

His gift, Draco reflected, was oddly appropriate for this child of summer sunshine, and he knew that she still was a child in many ways, painfully so. He pinned the delicate silver flower to her dress, and placed a second kiss on the back of her hand. It was pliant and unresisting in his palm, and for a second he suspected that their wedding night would be just the same. He would be made the monster in all of this.

The thought troubled him more than he had expected.

--

The glassy surface of the mirror showed her her own reflection, faded and grey under the dusty surface. Her red hair still shone through though, like fire fit to burn the dulled background in the image. _Marked by fire…_ Harry had given her a lot to think about.

When he'd told her, it hadn't sunk in. She couldn't comprehend it happening. They wouldn't kill each other. It wasn't a possibility in her mind. But Harry had nearly died on several occasions, and the memory of the shadow still left her with a shiver. To feel so helpless…that was something she never wanted to experience again.

She might love Harry like a brother, like a friend, but she wouldn't let him leave her helpless. She wouldn't let him lock her away in some fortress he'd built to keep people safe, and she knew he'd try, eventually. It was simply his nature. If she were in his position, she knew that she would do the same, but she wasn't in his position. He had the weight of two prophecies on his back, and she had only just begun to comprehend what that might mean.

It was then that she realised what a thread her life was hanging by. If Harry were any bit less selfless, less caring and protective, then her life would be forfeit.

And the worst part was, she knew that he wouldn't remain so for long.

She'd heard her parents speaking, sometimes even asked them herself, and she knew that war changed a person. The last war had been terrible, the aura of fear and death hanging so heavily over Wizarding Britain that it was tangible. Each day was lived in terror that family, friends, or yourself would die. People had become desperate, they'd kill as soon as look at you in the hopes that they'd stay safe. They were joining the Dark on all sides, or fleeing with their families undercover to the Americas or Europe. People changed. Her parents changed, and she knew in her bones that there would come a time when Harry would consider her life a fair trade for his. It was inevitable, in the same way that there would be times when she would think the same, but that one crucial moment would be all he would need, because when she looked at the problem, the odds were not in her favour.

Not at all.

She'd thought, _they'd_ thought, that if she tried to kill him, he'd die. But as she looked over the prophecies again, she knew that that wasn't the case. He was protected by the reversal of the second prophecy, and unless he chose to die, to kill Voldemort, it wouldn't happen otherwise. And yet, she was open game for all. The prophecy didn't specify that he would be the one to kill her, only that one would die, and she was so certain that it would be her. There was no way, short of a miracle that she would survive the war. There was no surety that the war would end in favour of the Light. Harry wanted to live, and he deserved that, but thousands of lives weighed on his.

Her own life, she thought with guilt. For the first time, she could see how a single sacrifice for 'the greater good' might be right, and it filled her with heartache. By all rights, they shouldn't even be in the situation.

But Rowena's words on the subject came back to her. She'd talked to the Founder, shouted and raved at her, when it _had_ finally become real, and Rowena had looked at her with sad dark eyes and told her that this was not what she had wanted. But she'd also told her that it would happen, prophecy or no prophecy. That was the way time and Fate worked. Prophecy only highlighted particular events that would happen anyway. They made them something that people noticed. Had there not been a prophecy, one of them would still have died. Voldemort and Harry would still be in that fateful triangle with Slytherin.

It didn't stop her from finding herself waiting, her heart in her mouth and riddled with sickly anticipation for the event. How soon would she die?

She had become, over the past few days, very aware of her own mortality.

She wished that she could say that she wanted Harry to live, above all else. That was what she told herself, and what she'd always believed she'd say if such a situation arose, but now she was in it she was no longer so sure. No one ever knew what they would do, faced with such a thing. She had strong survival instincts, and they had been kicked into motion now. She knew, above all else, that she was going to die, and she knew, above all else, that she would do everything to try and prevent it.

She'd driven herself into a pile of books as soon as she had made her realisation. Here she had been, dallying around with potions and minor charms, and Rowena indulgently letting her do so, when she could have been learning of the powers that Harry had been. She admired him, for that. He'd taken his destiny in hand and embraced it, and now he had entered the world equipped to deal with anyone short of Voldemort.

She couldn't say the same.

So, she'd immersed herself in a search for life. Even the Philosopher's Stone couldn't bring back someone who had died, unless they still lingered. She'd delved into rituals, but they weren't what she was looking for. Rowena had begun to teach her to properly use her magic, but it hadn't yielded results, any more than Harry's tutelage had. But Rowena was a match for Slytherin; she hadn't died by his hand, and once she could use her magic effectively, Rowena had promised to teach her all she knew.

They'd grown close, in the time Ginny had spent away. She missed her family, and had turned to the next best thing, and her only companion. It was a relief that the others were able to visit now.

At least, she thought, at least my Occlumency is effective. She'd perfected it over the months, using the time when she wasn't eating, sleeping or brewing potions to spend in her mind, building up the walls and traps. It had taken her a long time for the image to become clear, and her barriers were still not as strong as they could be, but she'd been able to resist Harry, just enough, last time he'd tested her. She wouldn't be caught out giving her thoughts away like free sweets anymore, and it was only time before she managed to make her thoughts impenetrable. She'd already begun hiding weaknesses or things that could be used against her underground, in little pockets of soil like a squirrel burying seeds and nuts for the winter.

The winter was coming up, she knew.

She had found, to her surprise, that Potions was a subject that she had some nascent skill in. Perhaps over the years it had been repressed by Snape's less than nurturing tutelage, but her skill was blossoming under Rowena's hand. She could mix things of great difficulty now, as easily as if it were second nature. There were still periods of intense, nerve-wracking concentration, and there had been accidents, but it came naturally to her. It was just one of those things that _made sense._ So she spent her time brewing, and practising her Transfiguration and Charms. She'd never been good at Charms, but she had a little skill for Transfiguration. In fact, the Animagus potion was well on its way to being finished. All that she was struggling with were the Charms, and Godric had been very helpful in that department. She'd never seen the theory explained so well, and Professor Flitwick was no slouch. She wondered how far along Harry was.

She'd learnt to brew other, darker things too. Rowena hadn't restricted her to 'nice' potions. At the bottom of her trunk she had an unbreakable vial filled with liquid that would kill a man as quickly as a heavy dose of cyanide. She hoped that she wouldn't have to use it, but she'd learnt by now that hopes weren't something you could count on. Riddle had taught her that. Still, there was some part of her that wanted to believe that everything would be all right in the end.

If only she could trust it.

--

Sleeping in the coils of the basilisk, Harry woke with the sunshine for the first time in months. The scent of bacon assaulted his nose, and he opened his eyes to a broad grin plastered on Sirius' face.

"About time you woke up," he told him, flipping the rasher and tentatively prodding a fried egg.

Harry blinked. "What time is it?"

"Twelve."

Harry's mouth dropped open before he got a hold of himself and snapped it shut. "I haven't slept this late in…no. I don't think I've _ever_ slept this late."

"_You were parched for rest,"_ the basilisk murmured sleepily, shifting a little as Harry pulled himself into a sitting position. He noticed, to his surprise, that Anguis had tangled himself up in the pile of sleeping bodies in the night, and was now draped half across the coils of the basilisk and his lap. He never had found out what they were talking about.

Grumbling, Harry choked down a rather charred breakfast and headed outside to begin work. The final magical mask needed to be set in place today, and it would take him a good deal of time. He had chosen the strongest rigid mask he could find, and it would withstand the levels of magic that Hogwarts was inundated with daily. However, it wouldn't withstand an all out battle between him and Voldemort, and the basiliskos had said that if they combined their magic they would be able to level Hogwarts…when the basilisk was fully grown, of course, so undoubtedly it wouldn't withstand something like that either. He knew already that they only got stronger the bigger they grew, and the magic that they absorbed that wasn't used for growth was stored within their bodies. Considering that his basilisk had been contained beneath Hogwarts itself, it had feasted on a veritable glut of power.

Still, the mask would contain and cover magic up to a high degree. Obviously the protections around the island would have to be far stronger, but that was in the future yet.

This last layer of protection had fewer runes to draw out, but it was reliant on the order in which they were set and their positions, and also requiring a small twist of his own magic in each one to support the mask. They would effectively draw on this magic to power themselves and protect excess magic escaping, whilst replenishing the 'stores' from the magic that they were stopping. There were seventeen runes in total, and Harry would be spending the first part of the morning crossing back and forth along the hillside, measuring distances and marking them down before actually setting the runes.

The hours passed in a blur of dry ground, crackling pages and fiery symbols. By the time Harry returned to the cave, it was early evening, and there was a soft buzz of insects in the air. Sirius was absent, as was Buckbeak, but Harry was secure in the knowledge that he had set concealment spells over them. Predictably, the hippogriff had reacted rather unfavourably towards the basilisk, and refused to even enter the cave without Sirius or Harry there.

"_Are you doing more magic, amigo?_"

"_Yes,"_ Harry replied simply. "_After I've eaten."_

All that remained now was to extend an area of low level magical deterrent around the hillside. After further conversation with Sirius, he had resolved to make this a temporary arrangement. After all, nothing said 'Secrets Inside!' like a spell turning people away. It wouldn't take too skilled a wizard to notice something like that either, and he knew for a fact that there were several skilled wizards in or about Hogsmeade. Hell, the Hogwarts staff would inevitably pick something like that up, especially the headmaster, Snape or McGonagall. He would only be using it to turn people away before the wards were in place and set up.

The actual mechanics of the spell were relatively simple compared to the magical masks he'd been using, and he'd made a note of the spells when he was still studying in Salazar's rooms. They were quick, painless and easy to set up, taking no more than half an hour, including time to check for faults.

All he needed to do now was perform it.

--


	84. Old Friends, New Allies

-Monday (Godric, Snape etc), Tuesday (Mercury Avenue, Diagon Alley, Knockturn), Wednesday (Dursleys, Dee, Anguis, Draco), Thursday (Dinner with Asher Durand, Personas, Azkaban), Friday (Basilisk, Snape, seeing Ginny), Saturday, (trains friends, Grimmauld

--

A warm glow spread out through his chest down his veins, melting the icy clasp around his heart that he hadn't managed to shake off in all the time he had been talking to his friends. He remembered Sirius' words, and it had been just as hard as he had imagined it to speak to them. He'd told just Ron and Hermione, with somewhat more composure than when it had been delivered to Ginny, and when they'd pronounced that they still had faith in him he'd felt as if liquid joy dropped had been dropped into his bloodstream, spreading out and eliminating his worries, warming him and sending him into an elated mind frame that not even the reiteration of the prophecies could dim.

He'd plucked up his courage after finishing the distraction spells around the base, dithering and delaying for as long as he could convince himself.

They had both had fleeting expressions of hurt cross their faces before they got under control, and he could still see small hints in their posture that showed him that they felt betrayed by his lack of confidence in them. It clung around their tensed shoulders, and Hermione's unusually bright eyes. In combination with the knowledge of the prophecies and his Apprenticeship, it had left them both shocked and reeling.

"We haven't mastered Occlumency," Hermione said quietly, her stare pinned exclusively on him.

Harry opened his mouth and then shut it again, suddenly realising what a position he had put them in. If they didn't want to betray his confidence, intentionally or otherwise, they would have to come with him. He realised suddenly that they were looking at him intently. "I…I'm sorry. I should have asked you this first-"

"Asked us what?" she asked, looking a little alarmed. Ron remained silent by her side, emotions churning in his face and throwing shadows across it as he thought. He'd been silent ever since he heard the prophecy, and Hermione, ever quick to grasp what he was saying, had been the one asking the questions.

"I…" Harry trailed off, feeling his mouth go dry. Gathering his voice, he ploughed on. "I was going to ask you to come with me. I need help, badly, and there's so much to do still…I can't do it all by myself, and Sirius can only do so much to help when he hasn't got a wand."

Hermione processed this, eyebrows coming together in a frown. "You _should_ have asked us first. I don't think what you did is fair, because it means that we have to come with you." Seeing Harry's face fall despite his best efforts, she continued. "We're your friends Harry, we'd do anything for you. If you'd asked, we'd have said yes, but it was underhanded to put us in this position. There isn't much of a choice between staying here and leaving your secrets out in the open or helping you, but I still want to be able to get a job after…after all this is over. We shouldn't let Voldemort come in the way of our futures, and as silly as this sounds, we already have. School…schooling might not seem very important compared to all this, but if we lose focus of what we could have afterwards then we'll have nothing when this is all over."

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated. "I just…I wasn't thinking."

Hermione gave him a shrewd look. "I think you were, subconsciously. You obviously wanted us with you, and I think you doubted whether we'd be prepared to give up on our NEWT's."

Somewhere in his mind, Harry knew that to be true, and it put a leaden bolt through his previous elation. Hermione gave him a sympathetic look and leaned forwards to clasp his hand in hers. Harry noticed absently that it was shaking a little.

"Harry, don't ever doubt our friendship. We'll be with you to the last. We'd…" she said with a swift glance at Ron, "I can't speak for both of us, but I'd die for you."

Ron seemed to return briefly to the conversation. "Don't doubt it," he murmured. "We both would."

Harry felt a lump appear in his throat. "Don't – don't say that."

Hermione smiled sadly. "You'd do the same though, wouldn't you?"

Harry restrained the urge to exclaim 'of course!' and thought – _really_ thought about the question. "Yes, I would," he said finally. "But we don't know how we'd act if something like that came along-" his voice got an unbearable quaver in it "-none of us know."

"No," said Hermione, "I suppose we don't."

They shared a look, a moment where both knew that they understood exactly what each were thinking, and the other did too, before they turned away and it was broken. Harry couldn't help but glance nervously at Ron, though he tried to hide it. The boy hadn't said another word yet, and was still processing the conversation in some intense internal machine, looking as if he were both struggling with it and trying to glean every last drop of information from it.

"This is just fucked up," he said weakly, finally coming back to himself. "You against Ginny, and Slytherin, and Voldemort…"

"But that's what's happening Ron," Ginny told him sharply, "and we have to deal with it."

"Yeah," he said with a sigh, "I guess we do."

The group lapsed into silence, broken soon after by Hermione. "Well, I think it's obvious that the first thing we need to do is get our magic and Occlumency up to speed. Once we've learnt a bit more, then we'll be able to tackle things like your bases."

Harry nodded reluctantly. He could see her point, and it was the most logical course of action - but, dammit, those bases need to be done _now._ Some things couldn't just be left until they were all fine and dandy with their learning. Instead of looking offended when he voiced his concerns, as he'd thought she might, Hermione merely appeared contemplative.

"It's true," she admitted finally, before catching Harry's expression. "What? You didn't expect me to just dismiss it did you? Honestly. Voldemort will probably already have a base, and several others established all over the country." She paused for a moment looking pensive. "All right," she said finally. "It looks like we'll have to begin on them right away, and we can add to the enchantments as we get better. Then there's the matter of the others too-"

"What about Slytherin?" Ron blurted out, looking suddenly embarrassed, as if he'd shouted obscenities at the dinner table.

Harry restrained the scowl that threatened to flit over his face. Instead, he asked, "What do you mean?"

Ron looked at him a little guiltily. "Well, he's not just going to stay around and help us, is he? I mean…no offence Harry, but look at it from our perspective. We're just…just a bunch of kids. You might be his…magical heir…but why would he help us over You-Know-Who?"

Harry struggled to maintain his blank expression and not retort with an ill thought out snappish comment. He knew Ron had a point, and he had niggling doubts about it himself, which only made it harder for him to contain the automatically defensive response. In truth, he still wasn't dead sure that Salazar wouldn't just up and leave in the middle of the war, taking their secrets over to Voldemort.

Blinking, he realised that all three of them were waiting steadily for a response. Ginny and Hermione may have overlooked the question so far, but it was what had been on everyone's minds.

"I…" he began, the memory of their most recent conversation returning to mind with a rush. _'Do you trust me?'_ "He won't," he said more firmly. "He won't."

They remained doubtful, and he could already see that Hermione was bracing herself to speak.

"It's just that…well, there's not much evidence to say that he won't…um…betray us," she said tentatively, in a tone he recognised as the one she used when he was about to explode with anger. Some of his discomfort must have made its way onto his face then.

Harry sighed, and tried once more not to go on the defensive. If he did that, then they would know that he wasn't sure himself, yet.

"Look, nothing I can say is going to prove it to you," he pointed out. "But the best thing we can do is trust him. He's a master Leglimens. If he wants to know something, no barriers in the world are going to stop him."

Ron looked as if he were about to protest, but swallowed instead. Hermione was looking at him with a thoughtful expression.

"You really do trust him, don't you?" she asked curiously.

"One of the few people I do anymore," he murmured. "Besides," he said, an ironic smile tugging at his mouth, "he's family."

Hermione wasn't quite able to hide her disconcerted expression, but Ron's face darkened dramatically. Harry braced himself for the temper that was sure to explode, and found himself taken by surprise when Ron spoke in a low, carefully controlled voice. Obviously he had got some practice in his absence at restraining the formidable Weasley temper.

"How can you do it Harry? After all he's done to you, how can you still trust him not to betray us at the first opportunity?" Ron asked, meeting his eyes with serious blue ones. "Because it seems to me that all he's done so far is test if you're strong enough. At the moment it looks like you are, but how can you tell that he won't pick V-Voldemort over you in the end, if he's the one with more power?"

"Perhaps, Mr. Weasley, it is because I place more faith in Harry than his magical abilities," said a cool voice off to the side, making all three of them start, and Ron take on a two fold guilty and defiant expression.

'_Hello, little one,'_ the Founder murmured in Harry's mind, and he couldn't repress a snort. Salazar certainly had a penchant for dramatics.

"Harry's our friend," Hermione told him, a determined look on her face that was undermined by the worry Harry could sense in her thoughts. "We have a right to be worried about him, and you haven't exactly done the best by him."

Salazar chuckled. "Perhaps not, little Gryffindor, but we have reached an agreement, of sorts. Harry knows that were he to ask it, I would do anything within my power for him."

That seemed to take the wind out of her sails. She opened her mouth and then closed it, a frown still on her face.

"You'll do anything?" Ron scoffed.

Salazar turned his silvery eyes towards him. "You think not, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron seemed to quail for a moment, before gathering his courage. "Yeah, I think not. There's nothing to say you won't s-stab him in the back as soon as you think he's not doing so well."

Salazar's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and Harry wouldn't have even noticed were it not for the slight tremor of annoyance that rang through the bond.

They met eyes, and Harry watched with sudden certainty that they were speaking mind-to-mind as Ron became increasingly pale. Evidently Hermione had come to the same conclusion.

"Stop it!" Hermione shouted, eyes darting between the two. "If you've got something to say then you can say it out loud in front of all of us!"

Salazar turned his attention towards her, an appraising gleam in his eye. "Harry has spoken highly of you…very intelligent for your age, no? Well then, we shall see how quickly you can grasp this. No doubt my little one has already informed you of the balance between us three, linking our futures. You see, to tear one column away tumbles them all, isn't that right Harry?"

Unwillingly, Harry nodded.

"So you see, I can convince you with no confessions that I do, indeed, care for the boy, because it is in your nature to believe otherwise. However," he said slowly, a small smile playing about his lips, "perhaps you understand the instinct of survival, in any form."

The pair looked shocked. Ginny seemed to have merely faded into the background, a blank expression on her face.

"Then you're just using him," Ron pronounced finally. "That doesn't mean you won't betray him."

Salazar smiled, amusement dancing along the bond now, and emerging out of those translucent eyes. "Loyal friends, Harry. Would you like me to swear a vow, little lion?"

Ron didn't even glance at Hermione, though she looked ready to assure him that it was indeed possible for ghosts to swear vows. Harry could already sense it on the fringes of her thoughts, and he had no doubts that Salazar could sense it too.

"Yeah, I would," he bit out. "Harry might be trusting, but someone's got to watch his back."

To his left, he heard Ginny mutter 'too right', before absorbing Salazar's words, or rather, not the words but the way in which they were delivered. It changed around others, he realised now. Became more of a show, an act staged to impress and intimidate, and Harry knew with sudden, cold clarity _just_ where Voldemort had appropriated his own particular brand of speech. There were similarities, too close for comfort, and a particular, mocking twist of the mouth that had nothing to do with hereditary gestures and everything to with idolatrous mimicry. No wonder he admired the man so, if he'd met him himself. Harry had known somewhere, in an abstract fashion, that they must have met, but it hadn't sunk in until now. Riddle had met him. Been tutored by him. Been given the basilisk by him. Which meant he must have-

'_Led him to his first murder?'_ Salazar suggested blandly, and Harry realised with a start that he had finished swearing his oath, and was looking at him with an expression torn between amusement and some cold, harsh emotion that Harry found difficult to absorb.

'_God…'_ Harry trailed off, feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut, again. '_That's just…'_

'_Callous?'_ The Founder supplied.

Harry took a steadying breath and tried to see the whole thing rationally, but things kept getting in the way, like his hatred for Voldemort, hatred for Tom Riddle, images of Ginny lying prone on the damp stone of the Chamber of Secrets... '_How do you know that you didn't make him what he was?'_

Salazar's laughter rang inside his head. '_Dumbledore made him what he was. He was headed down that path long before he located my resting-place. All I did was help him unravel the web of lies that he had yet to see.'_

"Satisfied?" the ghost asked, turning away from him to Ron, who looked like he was trying very hard to find some loop hole in whatever Salazar had said. Harry wished he'd been paying attention instead of being caught up in his own musings.

"All right," he muttered reluctantly. "But that doesn't mean we won't be keeping an eye on you."

Salazar smiled indulgently. "Perhaps," he replied. "I believe, Hermione, that you were discussing the wards?"

Hermione looked at him with a mildly insulted expression. "Excuse me? Do you always listen in on private conversations?"

Salazar seated himself on the sofa beside Harry. "Sadly, despite what you might assume, I do not entertain myself by listening to subjects that hold no interest to me. Your conversation was quite private, I assure you, but the memories of the previous topic of conversation are not difficult to locate when you chose to broadcast your thoughts so…loudly."

Hermione's head snapped back, and her eyes narrowed at him. "Lovely," she said scathingly. "So you just snoop on our memories instead."

Salazar chuckled. "I assure you, little Gryffindor, that it would be very difficult for me not to notice your thoughts. Imagine, for example, a shouted conversation, if you will."

'_Do you really have to keep winding them up?'_ Harry shot at Salazar.

Salazar returned a sly sideways glance. '_Stopping my fun Harry?_'

'_Hm,'_ Harry hummed half-heartedly. '_They're not used to your unique…humour._'

'_Very well little one, I will endeavour to blunt the edges of my comments with your companions.'_

"Are you speaking in your heads?" Ron asked curiously, even if there was still a hint of dislike in his voice.

"Yes," Harry said simply, not up for having an argument about it. "But Salazar has a point – we should stop arguing and focus on the wards. The Founders should be able to help us with the wards."

"Harry," said a voice from above them, and his head snapped up to see Helga watching him with a smile in her eyes. "You haven't visited in awhile."

Despite himself, his lips curved upwards. "I haven't had time in awhile. But I promise once things have settled down a bit, I'll visit."

"Good," Helga said with a withering look at Salazar, "because the others have been dreadful for conversation."

A grin forming on his face, Harry asked, "Oh?"

"Yes," Helga agreed. "Rowena's spent her time moping around in her portraits, not speaking to anyone, Gryffindor's been asleep, of all things, and Salazar's been too busy with his little power struggles for something so mundane as conversation."

He felt the smirk, more than saw it, through the bond. "You always were the shrewd one, Helga dear," Salazar told her. Helga raised a brow at him.

"Don't try and sweet talk me Salazar. I know you far too well for that," she warned. "Now, tell me, why have you called us here?"

"Yes, I would like to know that, _Salazar_," Rowena murmured, shooting him a sharp look and walking into the frame. The ghost's smile widened.

"Wards, pet," Salazar replied. Rowena visibly stiffened and the nickname, lip curling a little. Harry realised with a shot of amusement that he wasn't the only one that disliked the ghost's 'endearments'.

"Now, Slytherin," came a gruff voice from the side, as Godric entered, amusement playing over his leonine features, "don't tease her."

In front of him, he heard Ron draw in a reverential breath. "You're Godric Gryffindor," he observed quietly.

Godric turned his attention from the ghost and looked at Ron with some interest. "Yes," he replied at last. "You are from my house."

"We all are," Ron told him, still looking at him with some awe.

Harry let his gaze slide to Salazar, who was watching the conversation with distant amusement, and back again in time to see his painted counterpart slip into the frame in the background.

"Wards then," Ginny murmured quietly, and he saw Ron glance over at her with surprise, as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"Uh, yeah. Right," he mumbled.

With a sigh, Harry fumbled in his pocket for the Book, and laid it out on the table. Flipping to the right pages, he gave it a light tap and watched as his plans for the Hogsmeade base slid into the air and the third dimension, labels and little colours boxes becoming clearer.

"I suppose there are two main features to this," Harry told the assembled group. "The first is that there won't be any staircases."

"What?" Ron asked, surprised.

"No staircases," Harry repeated, shooting him a look. "To get from floor to floor, you have to Fade, and because Fading requires that you're able to visualise the place you're moving to that knowledge can be placed under a Fidelius."

Ron was looking at him with bemusement, but Hermione's eyes had lit up, and he could hear a multitude of ideas and possibilities running past the forefront of her mind. Rowena seemed to have brightened from her earlier mood, and was watching him with some consideration.

"The second thing, is the one that's giving me the most problems," Harry admitted. "I came up with some theories and some spells that might work with it, but…well, here goes, anyway. There also won't be any doors. I want to use the stone itself, and key the occupants in so that they can move through it like water. If there were modifications added, then it could be used as a weapon, even, if there was an attack. It would move for the people who were approved, and stay solid for those who weren't, which would mean that if there was a way to sort of _push_ it outwards, then you could knock enemies out with it," Harry told them. "It also means that if there was an attack, then the invaders would only see an empty corridor. I was thinking of installing an illusion that covers all the senses too…"

He trailed off with a glance at Salazar, who inclined his head very slightly before continuing.

"Say, something like a labyrinth, so that they think they're moving along a corridor, but are just staying in the same place," he explained. "Only, there are very few ways that this could be done simply."

He looked at the scattered, expectant faces and took a calming breath before continuing. It wasn't every day that you told your friends you wanted to mark them.

"The only one I could think of would be a…well…mark," he murmured. "For all of us. Something simple, just a nick of the skin-"

"But then anyone with a scar the same would be able to get in," Hermione pointed out, eyes narrowing as she picked up where this was going.

Harry sighed. "Look, when you think about it objectively, the Dark Mark has its uses-"

"WHAT?" Ron interrupted.

"-especially if it was used with a little more equality," Harry finished. "If we're in trouble and we can summon the others to us to help, then that's not a bad thing, and it'll be difficult to set up wards-"

"-without a recognition key," Hermione finished, eyes widening again. She opened her mouth to speak again, hesitantly. "I know it's been used for evil, but I've always thought that the Dark Mark was a rather ingenious invention really. It must have taken a lot of time and skill to make, and it has so many possibilities to work with."

Ron was still looking as if Hermione had told him she thought Slytherin was a better house than Gryffindor, and she'd be swapping in the next few days.

"They've got a point, you know," said Helga, breaking the silence to address Ron. "Besides, it's tried and true. There's no point in looking for a way around something that would work perfectly well with a little adjustment."

Godric chuckled. "The most sublime defence tactic is to turn the enemy's advantages into your own."

Ron did an admirable impression of a fish.

"You'll catch flies boy," Salazar informed him lazily, and the redhead snapped his mouth shut, ears becoming pink.

"Guess I'm out-ruled then," he muttered.

"What plans did you have for the walls?" Rowena interrupted.

Harry flipped over a page in the Book to find his notes. "I was thinking something based of the group of Fluidus spells, mixed with some of the ones in the class of Coagmenta and a modified version of the Protean charm. That way the fluidity of the stone could be joined to an object or image."

Rowena nodded thoughtfully. "A little vague, but the basic concept is there," she agreed. "But perhaps you could use something water based…" she murmured with a frown before turning to Gryffindor. "This is really more your area than mine."

Godric was silent for a long moment before answering with an extensive string of information that went straight over his head. Ron's eyes had become slightly glazed, but Hermione was nodding enthusiastically. Harry was coming to realise that Godric was one of those people who would think and speak slowly, but very thoroughly, and that a lot of what came out of his mouth he probably wouldn't be able to understand given a millennia. Rather similar to Hermione really, but more ponderous.

"What are you going to do for the mark?" Ginny asked quietly, in the silence followed. Harry noticed that no one had clearly objected to the marks yet, not even Ron.

"I was thinking…well, I'd find a Dark Mark to study, I suppose," he said, licking suddenly dry lips. "Snape might help, I suppose."

"Snape?" Ron coughed. "You must be joking, right?" Even Hermione looked sceptical.

Harry smiled. "I think he owes me enough to let me study it. Anyway, I was thinking a scar, because obviously you can tie in blood magic-"

"Snape owes you?" Ron asked, eyes going wide and breaking out into a dreamy smile. "How great would that be? You could get him to give you good grades even though it would kill him to do it…"

"Ron," Ginny snapped.

Blinking, he looked up and blushed. "Sorry."

"…As I was saying," Harry continued, "you could create a scar and a blood tie between everyone, so that the mark isn't just linking us all to one central person, but more like a web between us. Then the wards and the walls can be tied to the mark and shared blood."

Helga laughed. "Don't go messing about with Blood Magic without properly thinking it through. There is, after all, a reason why it's classified as dangerous."

Harry frowned at her but, surprisingly, Ginny filled him in. "Mixing blood triggers an adverse reaction in most wizards. It's why Blood Adoption rituals were outlawed."

"There are still ways round it, right?" Harry asked with concern.

"Rowena made quite a study of it in her day," Godric noted amiably, ignoring the pointed look sent his way by said woman.

"But what about…" Hermione began with a tentative glance at the portrait, "…well, _traitors_? There is always that possibility."

"How many traitors are in Voldemort's court?" Ginny asked in a deadened voice.

"But…" Ron mumbled, looking shocked, "that's because he murders them all!"

"Precisely," said Salazar coldly. "You're going into war, little lion."

Ron frowned deeply, and beside him Hermione looked less than happy. To his side, Ginny's face remained impassive and unreadable.

"There are many ways to gain loyalty," Helga said, watching them with melancholy eyes, "but sometime there aren't ways to keep it."

--


	85. Discussions, Arguments and Goodbyes

-Monday (Godric, Snape etc), Tuesday (Mercury Avenue, Diagon Alley, Knockturn), Wednesday (Dursleys, Dee, Anguis, Draco), Thursday (Dinner with Asher Durand, Personas, Azkaban), Friday (Basilisk, Snape, seeing Ginny), Saturday, (trains friends, Grimmauld

--

"Potter! What in Salazar's name are you doing?"

Harry ignored Snape's dismayed outcry and focused instead on the tattoo that was shifting gently under his palms. There was the skull, and out of its jaws came the serpent, curling round itself like black silk.

"Don't worry sir," he replied absently. "It's necessary."

"'Necessary'?" the older man spluttered. "Why, you insolent little-"

Harry cut him of with a wave of his hand. Snape could still hear his voice, but Harry couldn't. He suspected it would take awhile for the Professor to realise that, as he continued to mouth the words to a silent rant.

Instead, he gently ran a fingertip along the length of the twisted serpent, feeling Snape shudder under his hands. The magic came in strange coils, like threads after a cat has been at them. They were a tangled mess at first sight, but as Harry continued to concentrate on divining their magic, there rose a warped logic in them. There was the ink base to begin with, that was real enough, and the magic to make it permanent. There were other spells, those for the mark to fade and rise, create pain and pleasure, mixed with several strange enchantments over the top that Harry assumed were for the wards. He made a mental note to ask Salazar about them later, because although he had been practising identifying a spell without prior knowledge, all he could gather from these were those for 'acceptance'.

Probing deeper into the Mark, he felt the muscles in Snape's arm tense, and recognised that he'd triggered off a pain response. Of course, there were varying levels of pain; the spell was built that way – leaving it open and variable. Really, the spells for pain and pleasure were just one, for sensation, which could be manipulated.

What Harry was really interesting in though, were the spells that were hidden beneath all this. Everyone who knew the Dark Mark knew that it burned when the Death Eaters were summoned, but tied intimately to the base spells and the ink were those for loyalty. As Harry identified them with his magic, he became more and more impressed. This was not some simple, first year spell. Most people wouldn't be able to create something like this in their lives, but Voldemort had managed to tie a massive variety of spells into one single enchantment, layering them over and over each other, interweaving them until they became so mixed as to be almost indistinguishable from one another. They were in perfect balance, and that was saying a lot because many of the spells Harry could identify from his tutelage under Salazar were extremely volatile when combined, and generally produced undesirable side effects like tentacles, blindness and extra toes at best.

It was going to take a long time for him to figure all this out.

Reluctantly, Harry let go of Snape's arm and removed the silencing charm around him. He didn't, however, remove the binding magic, as his Professor looked more likely to throttle him than he ever had.

"Sorry about that," he replied, unrepentantly. "But you wouldn't have let me look at it otherwise."

"Of course not, you little imbecile," Snape snarled. "The Dark Mark is an extremely complex and dangerous piece of magic which would likely destroy the carrier if you are so foolhardy as to tinker with it! How dare you even try such a thing with me? No matter how much Dumbledore lets your flouting of rules and utter disregard for others go, I will not. You will _always_ be the arrogant little brat of a dead man, too jumped up on his own celebrity and toying with things that are not your concern." He ended up hissing the last part through his teeth, expression filled with loathing.

Harry took a small step backwards and returned to his chair, biting down his rising anger. He deserved this, he knew. He'd expected it. That didn't stop years of buried hatred bubbling up once more in the face of the all too familiar insults.

"If you so much as touch me again Potter, I will dismember you and string your corpse across the school. You should know well that there are ways to prolong death…" the dark haired man murmured, eyes flashing furiously. Harry believed him. After all, it would only take one curse and he'd be in little pieces. He might be considered 'immortal' in theory, but he wasn't about to test just how far his life stretched. He wasn't so enamoured of the idea that he'd risk finding out what life as separate parts of his body was like.

"I won't, sir," Harry replied slowly, and to his dismay he heard a sullen hint creeping into his voice. "But the Dark Mark is rather…interesting."

A single look from the Potions Master swatted that sentence out of the air.

"Right, right," he muttered. "I won't touch it again without your permission. I still have to find one to experiment with though."

Snape snorted. "I will reserve judgement on such an indescribably dim-witted suggestion as I can see no reason why even someone as moronic as you would carry it out. Now Potter, _let me down_."

With a sigh, Harry gave the man back control over his body. For a moment, he had a suspicion that the man was going to go for his jugular as he undoubtedly would have a moment ago, but he seemed to restrain himself to a look that told him he would do _just_ that if Harry ever did something similar again.

"Your lack of respect for others astounds even me," he sneered.

Harry shrugged, still thinking. "I didn't have a good example as a child."

Snape stared at him for one long moment, and Harry recognised it as a turning point on whether Snape would 'overlook' his little indiscretion, or take it out on him in the following lessons.

"No doubt your simpering, sycophantic, fame-addled relatives provided very few valuable lessons in life." Answer given. Harry could tell that his life was going to be made harder for awhile, but at least the man wasn't likely to hold a death wish towards him. Hopefully. Mind you, Harry couldn't repress an inward laugh at the description of his relatives. They may not have been fanatical about him, but other than that it fit them rather well. No, unless Snape had said fully that it was _his_ fault rather than his upbringing, then the Potions Master wouldn't harbour any fantasies about tracking him down and disembowelling him. Not many, anyway.

"You don't happen to know the names of any new recruits who you wouldn't mind seeing 'disappear', do you?" Harry asked, propping one foot lazily onto his knee.

The Potions Master's lip curled. "I pay very little attention to the lower echelons, Potter."

"Ah well," Harry replied. "I'm sure that going fishing in Volde-"

"_Don't _say his name!" Snape hissed through his teeth, dark eyes flashing.

Harry fought the urge to roll his own eyes. "_Fine_. The 'Dark Lord's' mind will help me find the answers. Either that, or…you don't happen to know if Lucius Malfoy will be visiting the school any time soon, do you?"

Snape looked as if he was going to retort with one of his normal acerbic remarks for a moment, before shaking his head and walking over to the workbench to investigate his potion. "No, I do not."

"Shame." Harry idly examined his rather grubby fingernails, mind still on the Dark Mark. "If I find a recruit or two, and a way to remove or make the Mark null, do you want me to do the same to you?"

Snape's shoulders stiffened suddenly at this, and Harry became aware how quiet the room was. "I highly doubt such you will come even close if you are incapable of anything surpassing your lamentable results in Potions."

Harry nodded slowly, before realising that the Potions Master couldn't see him. Finally, he murmured, "Right," and let the subject drop. He was sure that that was one of the things his hostile professor would appreciate above all else, and if it was in his power then there seemed little reason not to, unless, of course, he discovered that the man's inclinations lay towards the Dark. Still, he reasoned, he could always demand a vow or debt in return. He also accepted that the man had as good as acknowledged that he believed Harry might have a chance, which coming from someone with such high standards meant rather a lot to him, unspoken or otherwise.

"I take it you're out of the Dark Lord's suspicion then," Harry observed.

Snape sent him a scathing look. "The Dark Lord is suspicious of all of us, and for him to leave me uninformed about such an important attack is telling." He appeared to become a little distant, staring out of the fumes of the potion to something only he could see. "His followers will have noticed," he murmured, almost to himself.

"I spoke to him, you know." Harry was unsure why he was telling him this when even Ginny didn't know this much, but it felt right, if Snape was willing to speak about the Death Eaters. "I got lost in the Void…he wasn't as…hateful…as I remembered."

He slowly realised that the older man was looking at him with incredulity. "You spoke to the Dark Lord," he repeated slowly.

"I was in his head," Harry pointed out. "And since I couldn't remember who I was, it didn't really seem to matter at the time."

Snape was silent, watching him with unreadable eyes for a long moment. "…Foolish boy…" he murmured, turning back to his potion.

"I know," Harry admitted. "God, there's so much still to do…" Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "What, you didn't think I was just sitting around in some house, twiddling my thumbs did you?"

"It is not an unlikely suggestion, given your history of laziness and ineptitude."

Harry snorted. "Maybe. You'll be pleased to know that I can at least brew a reasonable healing potion now."

Snape's expression showed just how likely he thought that was. "You were incompetent, Potter. I doubt very much that anything has changed in the few months you have been absent."

"Potions is never going to be my best subject," Harry said with a shrug, feeling a little defensive about it, "but I found out that when actually you read the theory it makes a lot more sense. Like cooking, only it explodes or poisons you if you get it wrong, instead of just tasting foul or setting on fire."

Snape scowled. "I can assure you that the subtle intricacies of Potions are far removed from 'cooking'."

Harry laughed. "Bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death."

Snape snorted. "At least you have learnt something in these…what…five and a half years of teaching?" he said sarcastically.

Harry shrugged. "The starting speech made a lasting impression on me. At least I know what a bezoar is now."

"One would hope so."

Harry leaned back in his seat until it was balancing on two legs, with a little assistance from his magic to keep it steady. "Did…did you consider what I said before, about wandless magic?"

Snape turned slightly so that he could see him through the greasy curtains of hair that hung around his face. "I did. It is…feasible." He closed his eyes, an expression of concentration coming across his face, and several minutes later he was holding up a hand and showing Harry a tiny ball of soft light hovering over his palm.

Harry laughed despite himself. "'Create light'. Those instructions tortured me for weeks. It's all a downhill slope from there though."

Curling his hand into a fist Snape extinguished the light and added a few drops of a clear tincture from one of the vials beside him.

"Uh…" Harry hesitated for a moment. "I'd appreciate if you didn't go spreading this around. You know what they say about advantages and secrets."

He could see Snape's lip curl, although the older man didn't glance at him. "Potter, I hope that you would assume I have more sense than to tell others the 'secret' of wandless magic. Perhaps you will remember that it is an advantage to myself too."

Harry felt a little abashed. "Well, thanks anyway."

The dark haired man sighed, and withdrawing his wand he held it to his throat and began to recite the words of a vow. "I, Severus Snape, have not passed on nor will I pass on, the techniques involved in wandless magic unless it is in a situation of dire need, and I am sure that the recipient does not have any ill intents towards myself, Mr Potter or his…companions." He glared at him. "Satisfied?"

"Loop holes, Snape, but the sentiment is appreciated," Harry said with a grin. The other man seemed to be restraining the urge to roll his eyes.

"Is there a particular reason why you are lingering, or is it simply to irritate me further?"

"Well, the conversation is a laugh, but if I linger then I get to delay the inevitable argument with Sirius in which I'm forced to tell him what a good person you are," Harry drawled. Snape snorted, although it held a touch of amusement.

"What terrible tasks fall to your shoulders Potter," Snape replied scathingly.

Harry smirked. "You wouldn't believe half of them if I told you, but that's not the point."

"What _is_ the point?"

"Of life?" Harry asked. "42, naturally."

Snape's lip curled. "What are you babbling about Potter?"

Harry chuckled. "Sorry, Muggle joke. Um…you don't happen to know anything about modern wards, do you?"

"A good deal," Snape replied, not looking up, "and I am sure that if you manage to drag yourself to a bookshop then there will be many volumes on the subject. Now," he said, setting down the thin rod he had been using for stirring the potion and turning to Harry, "I hope you are not under the impression that your company is still necessary or appreciated?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right, right, I get the hint." Throwing the Chameleon Skin over him, he Faded out of the potions lab. He wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he saw Snape's lips twitch in something resembling humour.

--

Upon returning to the cave, which was in the process of becoming a long corridor, he found Sirius and Salazar engaged in a game of chess. From Sirius dark scowl, it seemed he was losing. It was the same set he'd conjured a few days ago, and he wondered how it was still lingering. He hadn't thought he'd put that much power into it.

"Not doing as well as you though you would Siri?" Sirius scowled at him.

"He underestimated the effects of a hundreds of years of practice," Salazar corrected smoothly. "Hello little one."

"I'm being beaten by a ghost," Sirius grumbled, moving a bishop.

Harry raised a brow. "Even I can see that that move isn't the best. Look," he said, pointing, "he can take you with two different pieces."

"Three," said Salazar, watching his queen destroy the black bishop. "You missed the castle."

Sirius hung his head in his hands as his bishop was reduced to rubble. "A ghost, I tell you," he moaned. Harry patted him on the back reassuringly.

"How are your curses, little one?" Salazar asked lazily, watching Sirius as he ordered one of his pawns forwards.

Harry shrugged. "Getting better. I can identify them without magic now, and he's started me on guessing them blind."

"Who has?" Sirius demanded. "What curses?"

"Do I have a different method of sensing magic than other people?" Harry continued, ignoring his godfather.

"There are two commonly approved methods," Salazar told him absently, watching his piece shatter another of Sirius' with satisfaction. "There is the conscious identification of other magic using your own, and there is what you might call a 'sixth sense', although lacking the modern connotations of the term. As witches and wizards, we are exposed to a great deal of magic, and we develop over time a sense as acute as scent."

"Oh," said Harry. "I guess that explains it then."

"Harry," Sirius called, voice beginning to sound frustrated.

"Yes Sirius?"

"Who's teaching you curses?" he asked sternly, and Harry braced himself for the coming onslaught of protests and a smattering of expletives.

"Snape," he replied, getting up to examine his work on the far end of the wall, where he had been getting the cave into a relatively square shape.

"Snape?!" Sirius shouted, no longer even bothering to look at the chessboard. "You're letting that slimy Slytherin bastard-"

He heard the sound of a hand as it went to his godfather's head, words suddenly cut off, and Harry raised a brow at Salazar. "I thought you weren't going to be torturing my family anymore?" he asked.

Salazar smiled thinly. "A force of habit little one. I do apologise."

The pain Sirius appeared to be under was relieved, and the dark-haired man shot the ghost a withering glare. In this instance however, Harry wasn't as unhappy about Salazar's 'slip-up' as he might otherwise have been. Derailing his godfather before he'd built himself up to an all out rant seemed a rather intelligent strategic manoeuvre.

"Yes Sirius, Snape. Who else do you know who knows modern Dark Arts and is willing to teach me? Unless of course, you want me to be learning even more from your mother…" he trailed off suggestively.

"I don't want you to be learning anything from either of them!" Sirius exclaimed. "Short of Lucius Malfoy or Voldemort, I doubt you could have picked two people I hate more."

"Sirius, it is your move," Salazar calmly pointed out.

"Fuck chess-" Sirius began, but was cut off once more with a grunt of pain. Salazar met Harry's eyes curiously.

'_I am quite certain that I didn't put him in pain that time,'_ he remarked. Harry snorted.

'_I can't help what I pick up around you,'_ Harry retorted. '_You're a bad influence.'_

Salazar laughed delightedly. "How very devious of you little one."

Sirius looked back and forth between them before his gaze settled on Harry and resolved itself into disapproval. "You don't have a right to do that Harry."

"Short of casting a silencing spell on you, there's not much else I can do," Harry retorted, but his good mood was fading rapidly. "Ranting isn't going to do you any good. I'm still going to have lessons with both of them."

"I'm your godfather Harry," Sirius reminded him sternly, "and Grimmauld Place is owned by me. I could forbid you from entering."

Harry let out a short bark of laughter. "Like that'd stop me. Grimmauld Place has strong wards, but it's not going to keep me out if I want to get in. Besides, you might own the house in name, but it isn't as loyal to you as you might think."

"I am still your godfather," he repeated, but his eyes were pleading.

Harry sighed and bit his tongue. He loved the man, he truly did, but this possessive, would-be parental side of him just drove him up the wall. "Sirius, you might be my godfather, but it's evident you're only using it because you're struggling for control over something that has _nothing_ to do with you. I'm _not_ a child anymore. I doubt I ever was, but whatever childhood I had died the moment Voldemort rose again. So don't give me this crap about 'forbidding me' from learning. I'll do it whatever way I want, and if it's from Snape or a half-mad portrait you hate, then so be it."

Sirius' expression had become suddenly very cold. "Fine."

"Look-" Harry began, but he was cut off.

"No, you're right. You're not a child anymore," Sirius said, but although the words were what he wanted to hear, the bitter note underlying the whole thing set Harry's temper alight. "You do what you want Harry."

For a moment his mouth opened to retort, but taking a deep breath he shut it. "Brilliant," he said in a brittle voice. "I'm glad you agree."

He suddenly remembered that Salazar was there, watching them both with evident amusement, and felt a flush of embarrassment that they were both acting like children. Still, at some point his godfather was going to have to come to terms with all this. Azkaban might have stolen his chances for growing up and realising these things sooner, but Harry was no longer the dependant child he wished him to be, and he doubted he ever had been. He couldn't remember a time when he had depended on other people to be there for him or support him, and even with Ron or Hermione it had never happened intentionally. The closest it had come was with Ginny, and that was only this year. Dumbledore was just too much of an omnipotent figure to be _real_ enough to help him. He gave off the impression of knowing all, but being too busy to deal with such petty things as Harry might worry about.

What irritated him the most about this situation was the fact that his godfather was only using the appointed position as a means to keep Harry back from something only he was afraid of. He loved him, Merlin knows he did, but the man wasn't responsible or rational. He didn't think things through logically. He acted on impulse, a true Gryffindor, letting his emotions guide him. Whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not (and these little spats forced him to do so), their relationship was far from functional. Harry, unused to confiding or leaning on anybody, and the man who had been robbed of twelve years of life by the most notorious wizarding prison. He'd already lost so much, and now he was letting his paranoia get in the way of Harry's learning.

Well, he thought savagely, that's just great.

He suddenly became aware that Sirius' eyes had widened, and he was staring numbly at Salazar. Harry felt a flash of irritation. He didn't _need_ the ghost to sort all this out. He didn't _need_ him speaking to his godfather, and whatever could be said in their minds could be said out loud too. He must have felt the irritation because he turned to Harry with that familiar, secretive smile.

"Private conversations, little one," he murmured. "Sirius was just coming to terms with what you've said to him.

Harry's fists clenched, but he repressed the urge to bite out a long string of insults, mental or otherwise. If nothing else, Salazar had taught him restraint.

"I'm sorry Harry." The words broke into his thoughts and he turned to see his godfather staring at him with those same, haunted, Azkaban eyes he occasionally caught glimpses of. "I shouldn't…I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine," he replied, a little more coldly than he would have liked. "Just _try_ and remember I'm old enough to make my own choices now. I'm not James, and I'm not going to die. I have _nothing_ to do with whatever squabble you have with Snape or your mother. Come to terms with it."

Sirius looked stricken for a brief moment, eyes wide and reflecting each emotion that ran through him so clearly that it left Harry with a stab of hurt through him. Coupled with the same, intense, unguarded feelings he could feel leaking unchecked from the man, it was too much. He turned back to the wall and continued the work he had left hours ago, furiously peeling away layers of stone and dropping them to the floor with satisfying crunches.

After a long while, the sounds of chess pieces muttering to each other began again.

--

The Burrow was a black silhouette up ahead of them, as jagged and flat as if it were merely a paper cut-out propped up against the backdrop of the sky. Still, as they drew closer it became clearer; upon rounding the last bulbous growths of hedge they were able to see bright, golden light pouring from the downstairs windows, and the low murmur of voices.

Ginny bit her lip and breathed out in a rush of air. "Do you think she'll…?"

"Yeah. It'll be fine," Ron replied swiftly.

They remained paused at the brink of the low hill that rose to the east of the Burrow, each drinking in the sight of the tumbledown shadow in which they had experienced so much of their life. For once, they felt in perfect accord with one another, trapped in their own thoughts but comfortably aware that there was another there with them, sharing similar, if not the same memories.

"Perhaps-" Ron began.

"Quick and painful, but it's over," Ginny cut him off. "Like healing cuts."

"It won't…it won't be over." Ron glanced down at her. "Just until all this is – is finished."

Ginny stayed silent. Neither wanted to acknowledge that when the impending war had resolved itself, in whatever fashion, there might not even be a Burrow to return to. Ron wanted reassurance, but Ginny wasn't the one to give it to him. There were too many doubts still in her mind to do that convincingly.

"Yeah," she murmured finally, "maybe. Mum'll be waiting."

She felt Ron nod beside her, despite the fact that they were going to be arriving unannounced. In a small burst of insecurity she took his hand, as she so often had in the past, feeling the familiar shape of it, and how his palms were sticky with nervous sweat.

Conversation within stopped abruptly as they knocked on the door, and in her mind's eye she could see her mother walking cautiously towards it, and her father surreptitiously drawing his wand. The door swung open slowly, and Molly illuminated their faces in silvery wandlight.

At her sudden, audible gasp, Arthur spoke up. "Who is it?"

Ginny smiled sadly at the comforting, mild tones of her father, and the sight of her mother looking at them with wide eyes. She could see that she was poised on the verge of sweeping her into one of her patented hugs, worries and scolding and love all pouring out in a torrent of words, and she felt herself leaning towards her a little, looking forwards to what might be the last such attention in a long while.

Which made it all the more heart wrenching when it didn't come.

Instead, her mother's face resolved itself into one of decisiveness, and although the yearning to embrace them was still present, it was tinged a little with sadness.

"When you went missing on your sixth birthday, where did we find you?" she asked firmly.

"In the t-tree in the back garden," Ginny replied as neutrally as possible, but was horrified to hear a quaver in her voice as she spoke. She should have known this would happen! Turning up in the middle of the night, a missing child and another that was meant to be at Hogwarts still, she should have known. It didn't stop it feeling like a blow to the stomach though.

"I'd got stuck in the top branches."

Ron didn't even blink as their mother turned to him, replying before she'd even got the words out. "Fred had told me that if you turn the candles the other way up, they'll make the icing blue. Didn't really," he muttered, "so you found me after the cake set alight. Gave me a right scolding."

Molly's eyes reflected wetly in the light before she threw an arm around each and drew them to her.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed, "I had to ask. I didn't want to, but with all the k-killings we have to set an example – Ministry's been sending round leaflets." She sniffed again, loudly before putting them at arm length and looking Ginny up and down. "It's good to see you healthy and whole Ginny dear…I was…" she trailed off, the effect of her attempt at a more composed response ruined by the tears on her cheeks. "We were so worried," she whispered, enveloping her in her arms once more.

"Mum," said Ron. "Mum!"

"What? Oh," she sniffed, "I'm sorry. What was it?"

Ron's lips morphed into a hesitant smile. "We have things, well…lots of things to tell you."

Molly seemed to realise that they were still in the intermediary space between the outside world and their home and, flustered, pulled them across the threshold and shut the door behind them with a flick of her wand. She bustled towards the kitchen, asking if they wanted anything to eat or drink and they followed the well-worn path after her. However, half way there they met Arthur, who looked as if he were caught somewhere in between standing to investigate the late night callers, and reading the Daily Prophet at the table. Before their father pulled them into an equally strong hug as the previous, Ginny caught a flash of Harry's face on the front page of the paper that lay abandoned on the table, mangled by a twisted, manic expression as he laughed silently from the photograph.

A moment later they were released, but Ginny still had Harry's doppelganger stuck in her mind, and didn't hear half of what her father was saying. In fact, the only thing that snapped her back to the present was the return of their mother, heralded by the scent of hot chocolate.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, as if noticing him for the first time. "Why aren't you at school? Why didn't one of the teachers escort you?"

She felt Ron's hand snake into her own, and their fingers curled around each other.

"We're not going back Mum. We're leaving."

--


	86. Leaving and Arriving

--

--

The castle threw long shadows against the ground, deep swathes of indigo and purple exuded by the rock in the dying sunlight. Standing in one of these shadows leaning back quite comfortably just outside the entrance hall was Harry, waiting for his friends to finish their packing. In reality, they weren't so much packing their possessions as their past. He suspected that just as it had been with him on that adrenaline charged evening in which he made his decision to accept the apprenticeship, they realised that nothing would be the same afterwards.

It was a turning point in their lives.

"It's not very polite to leave without us, you know." A serene voice from his right made him nearly start out of his skin. People had been coming and going for awhile of course, but no one had addressed him directly, swathed as he was in the Chameleon Skin and a light magical mask.

Of course Luna wasn't just anybody.

"How do you _do_ that?"

Luna smiled faintly. "Your aura was pulsing." Harry blinked at her, horribly reminded of Trelawney, and it was only too easy to fit the strange Luna Lovegood into her bug-eyed glasses and mad jewellery. He just hoped that the blonde didn't start involving herself in prophecies. He had quite enough of that already.

"I didn't think you'd want to come," Harry said after a long pause.

"I don't," she replied, flopping onto the grass beside him. "But it's still polite to ask, and I might _want_ to become an assassin in the future."

Harry took a moment to process what she'd said, and she stared up at him with those strange bulbous eyes, whose paleness kept distracting him as he tried to think of an appropriate response.

"Oh," he said finally, but it wasn't as conclusive as he would have liked. Luna always left him feeling a little confused.

"Opaca Spectre will want to come," Luna told him vaguely. "She's very loyal, isn't she?"

"Yeah…" Harry trailed off, watching her. She was laying on her back on the grass, head up against the rough stone where the castle met the ground, her pale eyes now turned away from him to gaze dreamily up into the sky. Raising a hand, she used one extended finger to trace the clouds, one eye winked shut in concentration.

"You can see things in the clouds, you know," she told him seriously. "Daddy wrote an article about it in the last issue of Quibbler. I was terribly surprised that they didn't teach it in Divination when I got here."

Harry just nodded absently, not really sure where the conversation was going. This was probably the most talkative he'd seen her, but following her speech was like trailing through the Forbidden Forest blindfolded. After a moment he realised that she had turned her attention away from the clouds, and was staring at him expectantly.

"What is it?" he asked nervously.

"You're supposed to reply. That's how is goes, isn't it?"

"Oh," he said again. "Yes, I suppose it is. So tell me more about cloud watching."

"You need to be on the ground."

Obligingly, Harry slumped down beside her. She seemed happy at that, and returned to tracing the clouds with her finger, only now Harry could see more clearly what she was outlining. It was a plump mass of cloud that looked as if it had been stretched out at one corner like white candyfloss.

"That's one of Zeus' fireballs," she said factually.

Harry frowned. "I thought he was the god of lightening."

"Oh no," she said shaking her head, "that's only to fool people." She seemed content to remain silent after that, and Harry coughed slightly, hoping to startle her into speech. It seemed terribly odd to him to be stretched out in the shade of the castle with Loony Lovegood, looking at clouds.

"Do you have a cough?"

Harry flushed, embarrassed. "No," he said, before thinking that he may as well tell the truth, "I thought it might get you to tell me more about cloud watching."

Luna turned her head to the side and gave him a very odd look, before breaking out into a peal of laughter. If Harry had felt uncomfortable before, the feeling had just intensified. He was beginning to feel embarrassed for her sake too, because anyone who might have thought she was a little sane would be revising their opinion at the sight of her talking to herself whilst lying on her back with a hand outstretched towards the sky, and laughing wildly.

"Sometimes you'll see things," she said finally, her voice still holding the undertones of giggling. "Like images. Muggles do this too, don't they? But they don't understand it."

"Do you?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Nobody does," she replied mysteriously. "But you'll know what they mean once they've happened."

A chill ran down Harry's back as he remembered his third year, climbing above the Quidditch match, high into the clouds, until he rose out of the them for one terrifying moment to see the Grim silhouetted against the sky, the cold of the Dementors creeping into his skin.

"Yeah," he said slowly, "I know."

Luna was leaning on one elbow to look over at him with her luminescent eyes, twirling a strand of dirty hair around one finger. He couldn't feel unsettled at the stare anymore, so caught up as he was in memory, but Luna's words permeated through the fog in his brain long enough to draw him back to the present.

"I'm going to visit you," she said with finality. "Your house elf is an interesting little fellow isn't he? I think I should like to see him again."

"Right." Harry didn't stop to wonder just how she knew he had a house elf. Instead, he hauled himself to his feet at the sound of the approaching voices he had been waiting for.

"Opa will want to come with you Harry Potter," said Luna. "She won't like you leaving without telling her."

"Right," Harry repeated.

"-glad I gave him those coins." Hermione's voice drifted towards him as she turned the corner. "Now he'll be able to continue it all. We really must tell Harry…" She said the last part very quietly, so that he only just caught it. It was good that they realised that bandying his name about the school wasn't the best idea, but he did wish they could exercise a little more discretion.

"Yeah, I just hope he has the guts. Neville can be so daft sometimes-" Ron was cut off by what sounded like a light slap, and they rounded the corner.

"He's lovely Ron, he just needs a bit of confidence," Hermione told him firmly.

They drifted into Harry's sphere of magical senses, and he perceived Ginny under the Cloak he had provided. Upon spotting Luna, Ron snapped his mouth shut on whatever he was about to say.

"What are you doing here?" he asked abruptly. To his side Hermione rolled her eyes upward as if praying for patience.

"Watching the clouds," Luna replied vaguely, eyes focused on Ginny. "Hello Ginny."

Harry saw Ron mouth 'how does she _do_ that?' at Hermione before the bushy haired girl rattled off some remark or other on his manners.

"Trunks packed?" Harry asked them, and was irritated to see Ron jump about a foot into the air. With a sigh, he twisted his magic to conceal them from sight and sound.

"Trunks are packed and shrunk," Hermione told him sensibly, although she was disconcertingly staring a little to the left of where he was actually standing. "We made sure that no one saw us doing anything out of the ordinary, although it took me nearly half an hour to get Parvati and Lavender out of the dorms. Honestly, how long do you need to spend doing your hair?"

Ron must have made a less than appropriate comment for the moment because there was another resounding crack and he was hopping back with a scowl.

"Ronald Weasley!" she cried, "You are possibly the most insensitive boy I've ever met!"

Ignoring his blushing, grumbling friend, he continued on. "Do you think we should tell Opa?"

Ron gave him an odd look, still rubbing his arm. "Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?" Ginny asked, pulling the Cloak down from around her head with a scowl. "She's our _friend_."

"_Your _friend," Ron corrected. "She's still a slimy Slytherin to me."

Ginny looked as if she'd rather like to smack him round the head as Hermione had done, but exercised an enormous amount of restraint and turned back to Harry's general direction.

"Find her would you?" she asked brusquely.

"But of course, dear coz," Harry replied with a grin and a bow, although they couldn't see it. Well, Luna could.

Expanding his senses towards the Slytherin dungeons, he searched for the familiar blend of magic he had come to associate with the elusive girl. Not finding her there, he turned towards the library, and then traversed several of the corridors. Frowning, he broadened his search until it encompassed most of the lower half of the castle until…_there._ Harry blinked. She was in Rowena's rooms? Fading, the castle disappeared around him and the Founder's familiar surroundings arose.

Opa was standing in the middle of the floor, gazing unseeingly at a point in the far wall. Making himself visible, Harry gave a polite cough, and the blonde started in surprise, turning to regard him with peculiarly absent eyes.

"It's you," she said eventually.

"Were you looking for Ginny?" Harry asked, supplying her with a verbal escape route if she so wished it, even if he was curious as to just why she was standing unmoving in Rowena's rooms.

"Oh…yes," she said, looking around vaguely as if hoping to see her. Harry frowned inwardly; he'd never seen her so distracted.

"She's leaving," said Harry abruptly.

That seemed to startle her out of her reverie. "Leaving?" she asked in some alarm, before seeming to remember herself. "I'm coming with you."

"That's why I'm here," Harry said, spreading his hands.

"Good," she said curtly, walking past him, "I need to speak to her."

"What-" Harry began.

"Nothing important to you," she cut him off, tapping the door irritably. "We're going."

She promptly faded from notice, and Harry experienced the awkward sensation of his gaze merely slipping off her, away to other more important things. It was only when he'd returned to the grounds that he realised that she didn't have a clue where they were.

--

The Hogsmeade cave was nicely lit by firelight when he returned, the sky beginning to darken properly into night. Sirius was sprawled out on his stomach next to the fire, frowning at the re-conjured chess set. His hair was hanging in straggly locks around his face, made thinner by the shadows that rested in its hollows. His dishevelled appearance made Harry all the more glad that he had given Opa at least some explanation as to his status – 'he was framed, he's innocent'. One would have thought that Azkaban would have leant him an ardent appreciation for cleanliness, but instead it just seemed to have inured him to the discomforts of dirt and grime.

In contrast, Salazar held around him an air of refined elegance that could only come from a millennia of practice. Harry suspected that upon discovering his ghostly state, he had meticulously scrutinised every aspect of his personality until he was able to use it as one would use tools to achieve the desired result. After all, what else did a ghost have but his presence and weight of personality?

"Little one." Salazar greeted him without looking up, regarding Sirius with a quirk of his lips that Harry was sure had been tailored purely to infuriate the Animagus – a habit born out of the boredom of the last few days.

"Harry!" Sirius pushed himself into a sitting position, sending a brilliant smile towards them. "Hermione, Ron, Ginny." Clapping them on the shoulder and hugging Hermione and Ginny, he turned to Opa with a raised brow. "And who might you be?"

"The Spectre," Salazar replied smoothly, not giving the uncomfortable quartet at the mouth of the cave the slightest regard. "Mutt, it's your turn."

Sirius' smile turned brittle as he turned back to Opa.

"Ignore the resident ghoul," he said with a disparaging gesture towards the ghost, "what did you say your name was?"

"Opaca Inferna Spectre," Salazar parroted as the Slytherin opened her mouth to reply. "Really Sirius, this is becoming tiresome."

Sirius closed his eyes and seemed to be counting to ten before he trusted himself to speak. Harry couldn't restrain a grin as Salazar finally looked away from the chessboard and met his eyes.

'_What did I tell you about winding him up?_' Harry asked, enduring the expected snap of pain that ran across his forehead, simply grateful to be able to dispel something of the tense atmosphere that clung around his companions like so much humidity.

_Don't be impudent, little one,_ the ghost replied blandly._ I am teaching him control._

"I'll show you your rooms," Sirius offered, breaking the silence that had grown during their silent conversation, and although Opa eyed him with some distaste, the small group followed placidly.

With a sigh of relief, Harry slumped onto the ground beside his mentor. He had experienced a sudden premonition of discontent - although it was unlikely that he had discovered his 'Inner Eye' at this stage in life – and he was beginning to doubt the prudence of bringing all these people together in such a small space. Of course, the hill was protected, but until they learnt to cloak themselves from sight then they were placing themselves at risk, and the cave-turned-rooms weren't exactly as spacious as to allow for their patience to remain untried. There were simply too many different personalities far too close for comfort, and Harry knew from previous experience that Salazar took a particular delight in setting tempers up to flare like a child with fireworks.

"It passes the time."

Harry turned his head slightly so that he was able to meet the ghost's eyes. "Do you listen to _everything_ I think?"

Salazar chuckled and shifted to stare into the flames. "I do try to ignore most of it, especially the less…appropriate thoughts you seem to have."

Harry's cheeks tinged a mild pink. "Thank God."

"You have quite the inventive mind," Salazar remarked.

Harry grimaced. "Let's _not_ get into this."

"Am I not allowed to tease you Harry?"

Silver eyes bored into darkened green, before Harry looked away with another despondent sigh. "It's not going to get any easier from now on, is it?"

"Life is an uphill slope."

Harry snorted. "Very helpful."

A smile ran through the bond. "You didn't want answers."

"Maybe," Harry murmured neutrally. "What am I supposed to do about the basiliskos?"

"You have repressed the link with it," Salazar noted, and Harry turned away guiltily. "Until you fully establish the link with your bonded, you will not be able to 'do' anything."

The week had passed in a flutter of sporadic hours, eating, sleeping and talk, and at some point within it Harry had become aware of an unconscious narrowing of the bond with the serpent on his part. However accepting he had been at the time, it wasn't so simple as to create a space in his already hectic life for the basiliskos that seemed to have claimed the other half of his soul. In fact, it was painful. Extraordinarily so. There was a constant tug on his senses that threatened to overwhelm him, drown him in feelings and thoughts that weren't his own, in a body that wasn't his own, and extended time apart brought a heart-ache that burned into him with each movement.

In short, Harry had panicked, and the reflexive reaction was to push the source of these offending sensations away. Those big, dark orbs hadn't turned towards him since his withdrawal, although each day he awoke rested in the coils of the resident snakes, much to the dismay of both Buckbeak and Sirius (the hippogriff cycling quickly through an impressive defensive display before settling into an almost tangible dislike).

And then, directly after his confessions to his friends, the basiliskos had disappeared. Harry could still sense it, lingering deep in the bowels of the hillside, but aside from a slight brush on the fringe of his mind, the creature had made itself scarce.

Its absence clung like a knife in his side.

"It will become worse," Salazar informed him. "It is necessary to complete several stages in the bonding before you can coexist harmoniously."

"Several…?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"The first is already in place," the ghost continued calmly. "You have met, the bond is roused, you can sense each other. What you are experiencing is the compulsion to complete the second stage of the bond." He paused as Harry opened his mouth to speak, and answered his as yet unspoken question. "There are three. The basiliskos, as they grew, attained a command over their magic and were able to stagger the bonding process in order to lower the mortality rate among their counterparts."

"_Mortality rate_?" Harry repeated incredulously. "What-"

"A basilisk is an intensely magical creature," Salazar informed him smoothly. "Their capacity for magic is in direct correlation to their size, and the greater their size, the more magic within them. It will occasionally take one hundred years or more for the bonded to locate them, by which stage they will have a far greater core of magic than the average witch, wizard or magical creature. The bonds not only forge a more intense mental and physical link with the beast, but a magical one, and the energy within the basilisk is made available to their bonded, likewise in the other direction."

"So then…if you aren't strong enough…then you just burn out?" Harry asked with a queasy feeling in his stomach.

"Very good, little one." Salazar regarded him with pale eyes; head tilted leisurely back against the rocky wall. "A basilisk bonds with a being of similar personality, but takes little account of their power. Of course, they must be powerful to stand within the presence of the creature, but it is of no account if the serpent is still small in size. In order to counter the unpleasant side effect of death, they directed the bonds into three parts: mind, body and magic."

Harry let out a humourless hum. "No 'soul' then?"

"No," the ghost agreed. "That last will remain entirely up to you. You have compatible souls, but whether you wish to bind them is your choice."

The fire made a soft hissing noise as it devoured a damp piece of wood, and he let his eyes be drawn to it. There were distant sounds of conversation in the temporary rooms he had prepared for his companions, and then Sirius' barking laugh.

"You said that…the presence of a basilisk puts people in a state similar to hypnotism," Harry recalled. "But Sirius didn't-"

"Of course not," said Salazar dismissively. "It is as yet still young. If you wish to give it power, then you would do well to complete the bonds and allow it to travel and absorb magic for its stores."

"But Hogwarts-"

"Has been drained too much already," Salazar interrupted him briskly. "There are other, far older and more powerful sites that the creature could benefit from."

Harry frowned. "Um," he began hesitantly, "this might seem a bit odd, but I can't keep calling it 'it', so, what sex is it?"

Salazar let out a laugh. "It will choose a gender when it has reached the appropriate power level, never fear little one."

"I wasn't-" Harry began, but cut himself off at the sound of approaching voices. "Time to face the music then," he mumbled.

His friends tumbled into the room, followed closely by Sirius, who immediately flopped onto the ground beside the fire.

"Who wants supper?" he asked.

"Siri, we have house elves," Harry pointed out, ignoring Hermione's outraged glare.

His godfather shrugged. "I haven't got anything better to do than cook, have I? Not without a wand," he added morosely.

"House elves?" Hermione cried, taking advantage of the lull in voices. Harry however, was more interested in the serious conversation developing between Opa and Ginny that had stopped very suddenly as he had glanced over them.

"So," Ron interrupted loudly, overriding Hermione's voice with careful deliberation. "I hear you play a good game of chess."

Salazar's half-smile took on a predatory quality. "Correct, little lion."

Ron made a beckoning motion with his hands and glanced pointedly at the chessboard. "Think you can take me on then?"

--

Several hours later, Harry sat hugging his knees and resting his chin on the tops, observing the furious match between the two players. Ron absentmindedly rubbed one palm as if working out an ache, deep frown lines etched into his forehead as he surveyed his pieces. Salazar remained as unruffled as he had been when they began, but Harry knew otherwise from the faint threads of thoughtfulness and anticipation that worked their way down the bond. He could feel that the ghost had closed off as much emotion as was possible, but it didn't take a fool to realise that he was enjoying the challenge. Ron wasn't hailed as one of the best chess players in the school for nothing.

"Check." The bishop slid forwards to challenge Salazar's white king. Harry still found it vaguely amusing that he favoured the white.

With a flick of his wrist, Salazar sent his king to the left, and Ron turned back to contemplating the board. There had been a deep dispute in the beginning that Slytherin was merely using the Mind Arts to pre-empt the moves made, a road already well-trodden by Sirius, but unlike Harry's godfather, Ron seemed to accept the ghost's disdainful reply ('such things are unnecessary when the game already presents no challenge Sirius, and it entirely removes the challenge when the opponent has at least _some_ skill') without protest.

"Check," Ron repeated. Salazar sighed, and his knight moved forwards to block the strike. A moment later, Ron had taken the bait and a white castle was crushing his king.

"Damn it!" he swore, but the grin gave away his satisfaction. "First time someone's beaten me since I _learnt_ the game."

Salazar raised a brow. "There are a few tricks one learns over the centuries."

"I'm sure there are," Ron replied, glassy-eyed at the idea of having _that long_ to spend learning chess.

_He is, in some respects, peculiarly similar to Godric_, the ghost remarked to Harry, startling him.

_What aspects?_

_Where is the fun, little one, if I tell you everything?_

Harry levelled a scowl at him, before realising that he was receiving a strange look from Ron.

_You tell me most things,_ Harry pointed out sensibly, _just not the things that will end up plaguing me._

Salazar paused for a moment and then snorted in humour. _We begin training again tomorrow. We'll see how well you can use your magic then._

--

Sirius breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief as he stepped out of hearing range of the pair beside the fire. It was uncanny, to see them both together, and frankly it both terrified and unsettled him.

He was very much aware that he was losing his godson at every turn. Everything with Harry seemed to start and finish with the ghost.

He knew it was selfish, Merlin, he knew it, but he couldn't help but feel an ache in his chest that made him want to snatch James' son away from the man who took such pleasure in dangling his place in the boy's heart before him. Harry didn't take the subtle competition for anything more than casual taunting, and he wanted to keep it that way.

James would have known just what to do, likely charging in and doing something utterly heroic and brave and _Gryffindor_, and he would have loved him for it and laughed about it afterwards when Harry was back with _them_, where he belonged, but James wasn't here, James was _dead_, and Sirius didn't know what to do without him, even after all these years. When two parts of their quartet were removed, he and Remus could barely keep what they'd built standing.

Inside, Sirius felt as if he were still trapped within that awful house, for as much good as his freedom did him. He was playing in a constant stalemate with himself, should he act or not act, play or not play? The tug on his heart told him to follow his instincts, and he always had before, for better and for worse, but just when he'd been about to he'd realised that he had no right, not anymore. Harry had told him that himself.

'_You're struggling for control over something that has _nothing_ to do with you._'

The words cycled round in his head no matter that he tried to shake them away; they were like flies, they always returned to his flesh to sup, and god, Harry was right, so right. He'd ceased being a godfather the moment his feet touched the harsh rocks and soil of Azkaban, and his godson had grown up without him there, without _needing_ him there. It tortured him. What would James say, if he knew? What would _Lily_ say? If they knew what a mess he'd made of it, that he was letting that Slytherin bastard worm his way into their child's heart, into his life?

But Slytherin was right, when he'd spoken to him in that moment of intense silence, Harry aware of their conversation but unable to hear it or witness it in any way. Sirius hadn't wanted him to witness it, and he still didn't.

'_You'll see it from my way Sirius, soon, when you realise that whilst the child of your heart was growing up I was more prevalent in his life than you were. He didn't even know your name, Sirius,_' and he'd placed a delicate stress on that, '_until he was thirteen years old._'

Remus would know what to do, but he wasn't here, here where he was _needed_, damn it! Instead, he was gallivanting around in France, trying to solve some unanswerable moral obligation just because of what he turned into once a month, and not here where Sirius needed him, and he did, so much, because Remus was the last link in the chain that kept him tied to the world and not with James and Lily. Because Harry was slipping away from him and he was failing them. Because Remus would be able to see it clearly, through eyes not addled by Azkaban, and tell him he was being a fool for worrying, and that Harry would love him no matter what, that he wasn't sliding through his fingers like so much sand.

"…expanding them?"

Sirius blinked and turned to the source of the voice. "Sorry," he said with a strained smile, "I was somewhere else."

"I was asking," Hermione repeated with concern clear on her face, "whether Harry is going to keep the corridors the same width, or if he'll be expanding them?"

Sirius regarded her strangely, and wondered why she was asking such a strange thing. "I don't know. You'll have to ask Harry," he murmured vaguely.

"I see." He watched Hermione purse her lips and say that with such precision, and felt as if he'd been at some test and failed before he even realised that he was being tested.

The girl…Opaca? Was that her name? She was staring at him fixedly, had been in fact, since she'd entered the caves. He wondered if she was uncomfortable around him because of his ex-convict status, but the shiver that started under her inscrutable gaze made him sure that it was more. There was something unsettling about her that made him want to curl up into a ball as Padfoot and watch her through the flattened vision of a dog. Something similar to the Dementors…

He tore his gaze away, realising that he had been staring, but stuck with the compulsion to turn back and make sure he kept her within eyesight, because if she got around behind him she was going to do something horrible, he was sure…

He needed Moony, or he'd go insane with all the paranoia building up. Swallowing a moan of sadness, he caught the tail end of Ron's joke and let out a laugh to cover his distraction. He was practised at laughing now; he'd done it a lot in Azkaban, but it was more of a bark of sound than amusement now.

Moony could make him laugh. Harry could. He just prayed that they came back to him soon, that Moony came back and helped him sort out this mess of his own making.

--


	87. The First Shard

---

Rowena stared pensively from her frame, regarding the grey sky and soft patter of rain on her roof with distance appreciation. The enchanted ceilings were one of her fondest and greatest creations and the spells, while not on par with those involved in the engineering of the prophecy were certainly of exceptional quality. Spell creation and construction had always been a passion of hers, alongside the precise art of Potions brewing; there was simply something in the subtle blend of different constituents to produce a single result that made sense to her.

However, none of these things could distract her from her thoughts. Having forgone the traditional spells that were placed on portraits in order to prevent them from losing their minds being trapped for eternity, she was fully capable of every facet of the emotion that she had experienced in life. Helga and Godric had implemented their own versions of the spells, she knew, and none but Slytherin had joined her in abandoning them completely. He, like her, believed that true judgement was impossible without the full range of human emotions. In a portrait, she was aware of things in a different manner, certainly, but she was capable of thought and all the associated feelings, which resulted in her current blend of confusion and melancholy.

Slytherin had always, in life, remained one step ahead of her. She was the spoiled child of a rich warlord, filled with passion and fury and disdain. Slytherin had been raised by a nobleman, yes, but he had learnt from his siblings the balance and equalities that eased his passage into the real world, for he had far fewer illusions to shatter, and a far more practical understanding of The Way Things Worked. Protected and indulged in her every whim, Rowena was very much aware that she had been both far less refined socially than him, and far more arrogant. The solitary, sarcastic boy she had met had intimidated her, and she had sought any advantage over him. She always had. However, life only added that bitter twist to his person later on, when the trials and hardship transformed him into a creature so alien and unrecognisable to her that she could find no trace of the boy he had been in the man he had become.

During the year in which he spent searching for her father, _his_ family's murderer, she learnt control, and curbed some of her unattractive arrogance and self-importance. Whilst Salazar was torturing, _killing_ her father, she was meeting the right people and making a name for herself as a skilled witch.

It was strange for her, and no doubt for her companions too, to see the stigma that violence had become over time, even though it was just as prevalent. As the child of a warlord, she was no stranger to death. She'd killed her first man during a raid on her father's camp, a ravaged, wild-eyed warrior who'd burst into her tent, out for blood. It had been easy to pick up the blade that always lay beside her bed and use it to good effect. She trusted her father's judgement implicitly; if he said a man must die, he was worth killing.

Salazar however, hadn't killed anyone when she first met him. He was studying the Dark Arts and wild, dangerous things that had a bite in the magic like that of the edge of a blade, metallic and sharp on the tongue. She'd experienced a sense of elation to achieve a milestone that seemed so far out of his reach.

The first man he'd killed was her father, and he made up for his previous lack of interest in death by spacing out the time between his capture and demise for as long as he was able.

Painfully.

In retrospect, she could plot the path that her carelessness and lack interest in the deaths of his family caused, and admit to herself, if to no one else, that she had been the beginning of all this, the catalyst to every action and reaction that took place. Her passion for life and anger and revenge forced him to develop in ways that would otherwise have never occurred if not for her. He adapted to suit each move she made before she made it, and even though she changed him he managed to remain one step ahead.

Always one step ahead.

Their decision to come together and construct Hogwarts was born out of their equal love for Godric and Helga, and whilst they did not put aside the already weighty history between them, they buried it deeper in order to conceal it from their friends. It was a private battle between them and no one else, and they hadn't wanted to distress the two they'd loved so very much.

Rowena had learnt at a very young age that when she wanted something, her body was easily used to get it. Whether she was moulding her expression into that of pleading that could not be refused, or implementing her considerable beauty to sway men, and occasionally women, in the direction she wished, her physical form was the tool that could be applied anywhere.

'Men are gluttons for women Rowena my dear,' her father had told her on her tenth birthday, 'I should know, I am a man myself. But, if you're clever you'll learn to take what they give as gifts and more, and never give your heart away.'

She was thankful that women in the wizarding world had a higher status than those in the Muggle world. They were, at least, treated as more than cattle to be bought and sold. Her father hadn't been conventional in any sense, either. To survive in the circle of battle-hardened men and vicious women that her father liked to retain, she had to grow up strong, sure and impossible to destroy.

So it was she that made the next move in their stalemate battle, taking it a stage further. She hadn't enjoyed their relationship so much as the constant wins and losses that it represented. Such a thing could no longer be hidden, but their friends cleverly remained neutral. By this time, Salazar had a vast array of Dark Arts curses and hexes in his repertoire, and had been experimenting with various poisons for some time, while she, she had been absorbing knowledge as fast as she could, applying it, using it.

Unfortunately, Rowena discovered that her ultimate failing was an utter lack of creativity. She had never had problems in setting a goal and achieving it, and that was indeed what her two favourite disciplines were comprised of, but the route to that goal was not built to be inventive but effective. Their games, both within the bedroom and without were played to achieve some triumph over the other, and on several occasions she came close to destroying him, but her lack of creativity was her downfall.

Salazar had no such deficiency.

She remembered the terrible things that they had inflicted upon each other, and in particular those that he had inflicted upon her. Salazar made it his mission to become a master of manipulation, going so far as to favour students in his house who showed such tendencies. He could play her like a harp outside their chambers, and inside he subjected her to some of the most horrific experiences he could contrive. Her approach was of one achieving an aim by the swiftest route possible; she had been taught not to savour the process, but the victory. Salazar gained an attraction to cruelty, and the vivid imagination and acute intelligence in him provided a great deal of situations that she would rather forget.

Once again, he drew ahead of her.

And now…now that they were both dead, but only she was gone, he was a step ahead once more. She had been furious, and afraid, so very afraid, to discover that he had transcended the usual boundaries of death as he had always promised. Even as a ghost he had striven to affect the world around him, and as always with Salazar, he had achieved it.

His heir (and though she'd expected it, it chilled her to discover that the boy she had come to like was to kill or be killed) was already trained in magic, showing the same intuitive grasp that Salazar himself had commanded at that age. Ginny, little Ginny, whom she loved with all her caged heart and did not show it, had either little aptitude or inclination for that type of learning. All offers of tutelage had been turned down unto the stage where Rowena despaired of her ever learning, but when she had spoken to Harry she had acquiesced as readily as she had to learning Potions.

It confounded her.

Despite her efforts at manipulation, which were crude at best, Rowena had placed little study in the human character, and although such knowledge is difficult to avoid picking up over such a great deal of time, unlike her companions she was unable to interpret people as well as she would like. Salazar had invested time in people in order to better play them off in the manner he wished, Helga had studied them out of pure joy and fascination in the lives of others, and Godric had learnt of them through companionship and debates, using his own internal confidence to gain their trust, and his skills in the Mind Arts to study the way they thought.

To Salazar, Ginny would lie like an open book, layers and facets of the mind be damned. If he took it in his head to kill her, as she so feared, then she would die.

However, though she might lack the necessary skills required to understand people in such a way, Rowena understood how Salazar worked. She was not such a fool as to think that one thousand years wouldn't change a man, indeed, it seemed to have whittled him down to a fine point, all precision and cutting edge, but the forming years of his life would still play a part after his death.

When she next got the chance, she would bring into play a few secrets of her own. Harry's breakdown occurring in her rooms had given her a decided advantage in that she knew what Salazar had left his heir, and as yet he was unaware of her own machinations that would hopefully bring forth fruit.

When Ginny was ready, she would call her heir back to her and reveal some of the assets that would give her a fighting chance. After all, the Grey family didn't allow its members to suffer without the means to retaliate.

---

Opa woke with the dawn, although the cave in which she slept was black as pitch, and the air as thick. She could feel the rise of the sun in her blood. Slipping from notice, just as she slipped out from the covers of her bed, she wrapped the thin sheet around her and padded around Hermione's gently breathing form. The stone was cold against her feet, little beads of condensation resting on it from the other girl's watery exhalations.

She resided in a world entirely apart from her fellows. A world of ghosts and ghouls, silvery, fluttery creatures that walked in the darkness and hid themselves in sunbeams, and whom most ignored entirely. Wizards thought that Muggles were unobservant, but existing in a place from which she could see all these things that others missed, she realised that wizards too saw only what they wished to.

It had been a hard lesson to learn.

Her childhood playmates had been the ghosts of animals, her constant companions the imprints that souls left behind as they moved elsewhere. She wasn't good at responding to people. A harsh pureblood culture had taught her that, and the fact that they couldn't see what was before their eyes made her proud and derisive, if only because she so longed to be part of what she saw as a separate, blessed ignorance. These children didn't wake to the shadows of screams belonging to people who had died horrible deaths hundreds of years ago, and being born so close to the first wars end made it easy to hear these things. In the end the only people with whom she could speak openly were her own flesh and blood.

The curse of the Spectres was to keep any secret told to them.

Things that needed to be protected would be kept that way until the teller no longer considered it worth protecting. Then the information would be free - ephemeral and untraceable.

She frowned out at the breaking morning. There were things that needed to be kept a secret, and things that must eventually be told.

She watched the sun rise.

---

The next week was spent in a state of perpetual motion. Harry felt as if he had never worked as frantically in his life. Mornings he spent with Salazar, dancing back and forth, learning about duelling. He began to understand the little signs an opponent would make before using a certain spell, a flick of the wrist indicating one move or another, the body language of a man about to feint left and attack from the right. He didn't exactly improve, but at least now he could see _where_ he was able to improve. At some point in the week Hermione had come running in bright eyed and excited, and showed him the little ball of light she held in her palm. From that point on his friends had spent their mornings practising wandless magic, although so far only Hermione had cracked it.

They spent the majority of the days stripping away at the walls and enlarging the base, and now the corridor stretched past the temporary sleeping quarters into what Harry planned to be the dining area and kitchens. They were all very roughly cut and dark, and he'd been forced to put stairs between the rooms until his friends learnt to Fade, but he was happy with them. It was a slow process, visualising the room and feeling ahead with his magic, stripping away rock piece by piece. He'd originally been going to cut it out by manipulating the stone with his magic, until Salazar pointed out that he had no idea how it would react. He could still cut away increasingly large sections with his magic, but he was taking it slowly, making sure that it was as secure as it could be, and closing any joints or cracks he found as he went along. Dobby and Winky continued to help him clear out the excess stone, and by Saturday he was pleased to introduce them to the empty room that would be the kitchens. It was relieving to have a little more space to operate in, at any rate.

In the mean time, he'd visited Asher to deliver a variety of materials he thought might serve as cores, nearly all of them from the basiliskos. He'd visited it for just long enough to get a little venom, scales and tooth before leaving again. Asher hadn't been pleased with Harry turning up with restricted items at all, and he'd been forced to compel the man to agree to use them and not tell anyone. His mind-work was crude at best, but it did get the job done, and the man had very little in the way of defences. His lesson with Snape had gone well enough too. The feeling of the modern Dark Arts came more naturally to him than those that Salazar had been teaching him; they seemed different, smoother, sleeker, and slid from his fingertips without difficulty.

The distance from the basiliskos meanwhile, had grown worse. No matter how he avoided it with work or sleep, it dug into his chest in a constant ache. He'd found in concentration lapses that he caught flashes of places around him that weren't seen through his own eyes or felt in his own skin. It disturbed him immensely.

This was why when Sunday dawned, Harry finally summoned his courage and descended the slope towards the lower caves that he knew the basiliskos had taken up residence in. The sun was still rising in the sky as he strolled through the short grass, hopping down the rocky outcrops and staring out across the little village of Hogsmeade, nestled below him. The forest that surrounded it and stretched partway up the hillside was still covered in a light mist that had settled in the night, and Harry absorbed the sight with appreciation. It took his mind away from other things.

Far below him he could faintly feel the basiliskos coiled in the bowels of the mountain. If what Salazar had said was true, Harry thought, then he should try and face up to what had happened and complete the bonds with the snake rather than running and hiding from his problems. It was just…Harry scowled at the bright and cheery morning, the basiliskos reminded him of everything he was trying to forget. Two thousand year old bastards who'd messed up his life with another prophecy; Voldemort; the hat telling him he would do well in Slytherin; Dumbledore's weakened state; the war that was going on around him, and threatening all he loved.

But on the other hand…

He was being offered unimaginable power. Sure, he knew that he was throwing spells around like candies without much finesse or control at the moment, but if he honed his skills, if he learnt…he'd be practically unstoppable. With a basiliskos at his side, people weren't exactly going to start crossing him or trying to kill him. Not even Death Eaters, once he revealed himself and started to properly engage in the fight going on around him. He'd be heralded as the next Dark Lord but…well. The general public had been fickle friends.

"Decisions, decisions," he muttered to himself. "Too damn much to choose from."

Jumping unsteadily down from a large boulder, he found the beginning of the cave system that the basilisk had disappeared into. Extending his magical senses he could feel the tunnel stretching unevenly before him, and grumbled to himself. Not the choice location for a conversation and supposedly 'special' bonding, but something tugged in his chest and he continued on, crouching and crawling into the cave. He could sense that it widened out ahead, and he was already familiar with these caves from his mapping of the hillside in his magical senses.

When he finally emerged into a larger cavern, he conjured a ball of light to hang in the middle and took stock. For a moment he paused, eyes closed, before reaching along the bond he could feel to the serpent, calling, beckoning it to come see him. In his minds' eye and the edges of his magical senses, he felt something shift. With a sigh he slumped onto the floor to wait.

---

Albus bent, hands clasped behind his back, and peered curiously through the dusty window. The house seemed fully deserted. He trusted Alastor's skills to detect magic but he had after all been alive for far longer than the old Auror, and perhaps there was something he was missing. Casting a glance back at his companions and ignoring Alastor's anticipatory snort of amusement, he approached the door and gently laid his palms flat down on it.

Unsurprisingly, he found himself flying through the air and landing on his arse a good way away from the house.

_Ouch_, Albus winced, rubbing his abused backside thoughtfully. _I haven't encountered a kick like that in years_.

Alastor's barking laughter rang through the clearing, but the old wizard barely registered it.

"Most intriguing," he murmured.

He approached the building more cautiously this time, keeping a respectful distance between himself and the door. Cautiously he closed his eyes and concentrated on any faint magical tingle that he might be able to pick up. There was nothing at first, but then, like catching a scent on the breeze so faint it might almost not be there at all, he could feel something in the house…something incredibly powerful, and incredibly well hidden. Something that obviously didn't want to be found.

Chuckling to himself, he turned away from the door and pressed a palm to the windowpane. The surge of magic again, but this time he was prepared for it and pressed back with his own innate magic. He might have been left with a dangerously low pool of magic during the Magicus Potentia ritual but he was still a cut above most wizards around him, and he had one hundred and thirty years experience under his belt to draw upon. He struggled, beads of cold sweat breaking out on his bow, the wide-eyed Order members behind him not even registering as he combated the explosive burst of magic.

It was like wild magic, he thought, remembering summoning a similar swell of power in his youth and fighting with it just as he was now. He could feel the pressure of it like a cornered animal, the magic straining to go in any which direction, looking for a fault in his struggle that it could exploit and throw him backwards just as it had before. He grunted in pain as it flared suddenly, then receded just as dramatically. He nearly put his hand through the windowpane before he readjusted his weight and realised that he had been physically leaning against the pressure. With a sigh, he relaxed, but didn't take his hand away from the window. Instead, he trailed it round the edge of the building to the door, and turned the doorknob, letting himself in.

Behind him, he heard Hestia let out a whooping cheer.

The house was filled with dust, just as he had expected it to be. Nothing remarkable had happened to show that there was an object of immense magical power here. No overturned chairs or tables as if a tidal wave of force had passed them by, knocking them to the floor. No miraculous mirages appearing to fool him into leaving. The only telling thing, perhaps, was the complete absence of any living creature, though the floor was veritably scattered with dead bugs and mice.

Letting a satisfied smile cross his face, Albus trailed to the foot of the narrow stairs, and amused himself with the sound of Hestia being thrown away from the house by another magical blast. He had lived long enough to deal with his loss of power like an adult, but it still struck him hard. It was reassuring then to know that he was still more powerful than any of the others he surrounded himself with. Even Harry, in some respects, though the boy's power had grown exponentially. When he weighed and measured his assets versus the boy-hero's, he still came out on top in many ways. Though he could feel the boy's raw power trailing after him like some monstrous hound, he knew his own magic and that of others in ways that they couldn't comprehend. He'd spent the majority of his life endeavouring to understand how magic worked, and he knew that as much control as Harry had over it, in a fight with a well matched opponent he wouldn't be able to keep up. It would flare and go wild, tearing in different directions, particularly if the boy continued to use the Dark Arts.

Even weakened, Albus knew with certainty that if it came to it his superior knowledge and cunning would overcome Harry. It heartened him.

Reaching the top of the stairs he tore away from his thoughts on the Boy-Who-Lived and concentrated on his surroundings. The top floor was as unremarkable as the ground, the knickknacks and furniture that had been left behind when Hestia's family fled during the first war still there. He could see a single bed through a half-open doorway, sheets and covers eaten away and dirtied with grime, and through another…

Albus pushed the door open, feeling the sullen swell of magic rise about him, as if testing his resolve, then fall once more. A prickle of excitement ran up his smile, and his leaned forwards in anticipation. This was what he'd been waiting for, this was something powerful. Ignoring the double bed and the wardrobe to the side of the room, he leant forwards, taking a good look at the chest that lay at the food of the bed. He felt like a man discovering gold, reeling it up from the bottom of the sea like in the pirate tales he'd been read as a child. He chuckled a little to himself. So he hadn't lost the old spirit of adventure after all.

With a flick of his hand he opened the lid, inquisitive fingers trailing over the mementoes of a family long gone. These things…they probably wouldn't matter to her anymore, but he knew that Hestia would feel grateful to him if he brought them out, and he would never pass up a chance to foster loyalty in his companions. Really, when the girl had no other solid reason to follow him, the littlest things would keep her faith in him.

Smiling, he brushed past the objects carefully stacked within; an old patterned blanket, a model train, a tiny Quidditch figurine, a necklace, and finally…a slim wooden case. It would once have been polished and sure enough, when he rubbed away the dirt that had collected over the surface it gleamed dully. Delicately, reverently, he lifted if from the chest, everything else within the house fading into the background. _This_ was what had captured his attention since he had first heard the legends of it, first heard the name. It was an advantage above Voldemort, an object of extraordinary power and legend, and there were after all so few left these days…

Gently he slid back the lid to reveal a shine of gold, dulled with age and wear but none the less beautiful; a shard of Medusa's Seal.

---

Harry shivered despite himself as the dark form of the basiliskos appeared out of the blackness. It's crested head swung back and forth, dark tongue flicking out and tasting the air, and disturbingly Harry could taste his own skin in his mouth along with the damp of the air and rocks.

"_So you've decided to grant me freedom,"_ the basiliskos hissed, and Harry could detect a hint of bitterness in the sound.

"_I was…caught up in things,"_ he replied hesitantly. "_I didn't know you couldn't roam unless the bonds were completed_."

The snake paused on the opposite side of the cave, curling up on itself until its head rested on its thick coils. "_I can roam,"_ it replied softly, _"but it would be unwise without completing the bonds. We are stronger with our minds and magic combined."_

Harry remained silent. He didn't know what to say. How did you explain to a serpent that he'd been struggling with everything that was piled on his head, the prophecies and his friends, Sirius and Salazar? There were so many things to remember and do.

"_Look at me_," the basiliskos commanded.

Harry slowly raised his head, meeting those fathomless black eyes with his own, experiencing that familiar sense of vertigo as he saw himself through the snake's eyes. As chilling as it was, Harry felt his worries draining away like so much sand, and there was just stillness, darkness left in its place. The shadows in the depths of his magic stirred and twisted, writhing below the surface, coaxing his magic up around them, flowing over the surface of his skin, and he saw through the basiliskos' eyes that deep shadows had burst out over him, crawling across his arms and through his hair, reaching out to embrace the foreign magic he could feel in the serpent, twisting and twining until they were thoroughly and inextricably knotted.

With a gasp he pulled away, and his magic retreated with him, but there remained a thread connected to the basiliskos that seemed to tug strangely at him like an old scar would.

"_What did you do?_" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"_Bound our magic_."

The snake unwound, slithering towards him and curling around him, until Harry had a flitting thought that it would constrict him. With a sigh he relaxed and leaned back against the dark coils. Instinctively he pushed back the sleeve on his left arm, the arm that still bore the scar from the last time he'd encountered a basilisk, proffering it to the creature.

"_Go on then,_" he said finally, "_I won't keep you here any longer."_

The last thing Harry knew was the biting pain of a thin fang sinking into his skin, and then he succumbed to blackness.

---


	88. A Werewolf's Death

---

Remus spat out blood.

Shivering, he pushed himself to his hands and knees. _There's snow on the ground_, he thought in wonderment, and then let out a hoarse cry as he scraped against his slashed knee. He hadn't fought. He'd been proud of that fact mere hours ago, but he couldn't remember why.

"_Weakness Remus boy, you're weak,"_ he could hear Fenrir say, and he felt protests rise in his throat as he heard the same sentiments repeated like echoes in his head, a hundred different people reciting the same thing, '_weak_', his father, Fenrir, Marcel and Adolpha Meier sneering at him as he pushed his case one step too far.

_Weak man, Remus, too weak for us to consider listening to._

Werewolves only dealt in blood and strength, and Remus was too weak to prove himself to them. In a pack he'd be at the bottom rungs, scrabbling to keep his head above the water, spat on by the stronger. That knowledge sang in his blood, and yet he did not fight. If he fought, he'd prove himself, become higher than them, look down on the lower echelons and scorn them for their gentleness…

"No, no," he mumbled to himself. "It's not like that. Not weak. Don't have to fight to become strong…"

Snow was falling. It transfixed him. There was blood over his hands, blood under his nails, in seeping into the snow. A drop appeared, and he dimly felt for his forehead, tentatively probing the wound there. _Merlin_, he thought to himself, and for a moment he thought he'd said it out loud.

"Merlin," he tested, tasting the word on his tongue.

His arm gave out a little beneath him, and he fell onto the ground, into the snow like a cold blanket around him. He laughed. The great, the weak Remus Lupin would die here, in the snow, somewhere in France. And where were Harry and Sirius? If they weren't safe…but what could he do? He was just an old wolf, dying in the snow.

"Monsieur Remmy?"

A small voice. The wolf told him it was a child, a young one. He was fond of it, he knew. Somewhere along the line he'd formed an attachment, somewhere…

"Mon dieu!"

An exclamation, and then small hands touching his shoulder, tentatively, then gently but firmly turning him over until he was facing the sky. Snowflakes falling towards him. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to see this. He was too cold, too hurt to think about it, about his pack, his family, left behind on some fools quest, two of them dead already, one of them turned traitor…

A pale, oval face came into his vision, drained of colour. A snow child, he thought, I'm blessed to be rescued by a little snow child from the forests. The snow child murmured something, and he felt a tingle run down his arm, and then it continued, a gentle, lulling flow of words that fell meaninglessly over him, running over his bruised and broken flesh like the kiss of cold on a winters day…something hard touched to his forehead and a buzzing warmth spread across the gash, healing it, he could feel the flesh knitting back together as he breathed.

He touched his head with a tentative hand feeling the smooth skin, no longer ruptured. Merlin…he'd said that hadn't he? He was healed.

"Snow child," he mumbled.

"Remmy?" a voice said. A girl's voice, he thought. "Get up Remmy, we have to go!"

_Who am I to disobey a snow child?_ He asked himself. With a grunt he raised himself up, joints protesting, cold and tired. He wanted his home, a den, a place for the pack, with friends and laughs and a fire, and after the night was done to collapse into a peaceful pile of limbs and bodies, warmed against the night air. There had been a time they'd done that, he knew.

The face swam into view again, and he recognised with a fleeting disappointment that it wasn't a snow child at all, just the littlest werewolf, the omega of the pack. Something in him scorned her, and he hated himself for it.

"Faye," he ground out. Hoarse throat. Screaming, perhaps.

"Remmy! Get up!" she cried, eyes wide and terrified.

Remus stumbled to his feet, unsteady. She took his arm and gently directed him down the slope of whiteness he could see, a pine tree in the far distance, and mist in the sky. _A werewolf's death_, he noted absently. _They respected me enough to give me a werewolf's death._ Perhaps there was still some chance to sway them, some chance to bring them over to the right side, gain their help and loyalty…

"What are you doing?" Faye shouted, alarmed. Remus realised he was veering wildly to the left.

They meandered unsteadily down the slope drifting this way and that, Remus staggering drunkenly and tripping over rocks, feeling faint and airy, like the snow around him.

"Why didn't you leave me to die?" he asked, voice deadened.

"No," she whispered to him, "no, I couldn't. I'm going to help you fight, when we get back, I'll help you! You couldn't die…"

Remus wondered vaguely where his wand was. He could make himself steady if he had it, cast some spell to warm them, stop his frozen toes from tripping them up. He stopped suddenly and cast a desperate look across the bleak landscape. Where were they? How was he ever meant to get them out of here?

"I'm going to Apparate," he told her meaningfully, not quite sure if he could remember how, but determined to try. "To England." She looked alarmed, but of course, she didn't know what he meant, not directly to England, no one could do that, he scoffed, but to somewhere nearby…Paris maybe, or Toulouse, and then he'd take the Floo back to England…to Britain, to Grimmauld Place.

"Where…" he panted, "where are we?"

"Mountains," the girl said, Faye said, dark eyes teary, lip trembling. Scared. Cold. "I don't know where."

Remus shook his head, trying to clear the haze from it. _Like a snowstorm in my brain_, he thought wildly, and giggled a little. Faye looked frightened. He tried to focus, fix a point in Paris in his mind that wouldn't have Muggles in it, never Muggles. They would kill him without a second glance, he remembered. Fenrir had told him early on, when he'd followed him, found him out of despair and desperation, bloodthirsty wretch that he was. But Remus had been weak. A growl escaped his lips, vicious, angry. He wouldn't remain weak. He'd throw the man out, destroy whatever credence he had among the wolves, throw him out and take his rightful place!

No…that wasn't it at all. Struggling, he tried to drag his mind back to what he'd been thinking previously, or he knew they'd both die in these mountains, food for the wolves.

Fixing a place in his mind, a shadowed street off the Seine that led into the wizarding sector, hidden from the world of Muggles. For a moment he faltered, tightening his grip on Faye's delicate frame, and then with a crack of sound, they vanished.

---

Harry awoke groggily, eyelids fluttering open with the greatest difficulty. He felt like his eyeballs were rolling around inside his skull just with the effort of keeping his eyes open. Groaning, he rolled over onto his side.

"Harry?" a tentative voice called, and he curled further into a ball. He didn't want to wake up, he felt so heavy and tired. "Harry are you awake?"

He mumbled something that wasn't words but was enough of an answer.

"Your friends were quite worried to see you appear in such a condition." Cold voice, black as pitch. Harry remembered vaguely that he had to listen to that one, that it wasn't one he could ignore.

"Tired," he mumbled.

"You've been sleeping all day mate." Ron, Harry thought. He sounded bored.

With a great struggle, he opened his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position. Surely he wouldn't be able to fall asleep when he was upright, even though his head sagged and he could barely move his limbs. Not good, some part of his mind registered. Need to talk to…_Salazar_, he called out slowly, wondering if he'd got the right name at all. _Feel…strange…_

"As you will do for the next day or so," he heard. "Perhaps I should have warned you."

"Need to…" he paused, searching for the words like fumbling through syrup. "Need to…do things."

"Go back to sleep little one, we'll talk when you are awake."

Harry nodded happily, and toppled sideways back onto the gloriously horizontal floor. In the distance, he just made out Hermione's voice asking something in an insulted voice before he faded away again.

---

Draco flattened his robes and leant elegantly against the wall. He was aware of the low voices in the next room: his father's silky tones and the low rumble of Clemence's father as they discussed the final arrangements. He'd made two more visits, and given two more gifts, now all that remained was one more courtship and the wedding. It unsettled him, to see marriage performed so efficiently. He'd always…well, he hadn't imagined it all romance and roses, that was to be sure, but he'd thought it would be performed in a stately manner, an alliance carefully chosen. The Moreau family were part of the French elite, no doubt about it, but they didn't hold that great a sway over their peers. Of course, they were well respected, and their daughter acceptable, but she wasn't the cream of the crop, they weren't the family he would have chosen if he were given the choice.

_If my father were given the choice_, he reminded himself. He didn't delude himself that he would have had a say in his bride either way.

Clemence. Adequate, quiet, innocent little Clemence. Married within a week. Sure to be bearing an heir within the month. There were potions used in the wedding ceremony to ensure such things. He cast his mind over the thought of a child and found nothing but a grey wasteland. Would he even love it, when he saw it? Would he feel proud to have a child in the world, delighted to be able to run his hand down the curve of his wife's belly that swelled up like a flower bud in the sun? Or would he feel nothing at all? It wasn't unlikely. Would they ever talk to each other, he wondered looking out of the window at the girl that sat on the stone steps that led onto the garden, would he ever yearn to simply hold her for comfort, spill out his troubles in the knowledge that he could do so safely, trust her with anything?

He crushed the thoughts as quickly as they came. There was no _time_ for such ideas. He was half-dead inside. Pain didn't matter. Joy wouldn't either. They'd pass by him like water over a rock. They would wear him down until there was nothing left, but he would be six feet under the ground by then.

He would kill the Lestranges first.

Coldly, he considered them. He was learning. He'd landed a good blow yesterday, and though they'd made him pay he'd been smiling all the way through it. They'd given him back more than double, more than triple. They knew, like he did, that each step forwards was a day less for them to live. They all knew it. It hung over them like a thick pallor, smothering them, suffocating them. He pulled his facial muscles into a grim smile. He had to practise, or he'd forget how.

"Draco?"

He turned his attention towards the woman who'd entered the room. Caroline, Clemence's mother. Her faded face was contorted with worry, and she approached him hesitantly.

"Caroline," he greeted her cordially, performing a graceful bow.

"Draco," she said again, nodding slightly. It wasn't her place to curtsey to him. He was still lower on the social hierarchy, and would be until his father died and he took on the mantle of the Head of House Malfoy.

"What can I do for you?" he asked politely.

Caroline clasped her hands together in what seemed to be an effort not to wring them. No, Draco thought, she is far too dignified for that. She cast another nervous glance at him.

"Perhaps you will come with me, and we can sit and talk," she gave him a weak smile. "We haven't had much chance to speak."

Draco nodded his assent silently, and the woman turned, beckoning for him to follow. They moved down the corridor away from the room where the two men still argued over the details of the marriage contract, and into the lounge. It was all elegant, summery, free. The sofas had delicate blue embroidery on them. Draco assumed a seat and entwined his hands before him, and Caroline sat opposite, obviously still feeling at odds with the situation.

"I hear you attended Hogwarts," she began hurriedly, eyes seeking his out, pleading…but for what? "I had an aunt who went there who said it was very prestigious."

"It is a good school, and the teaching is quite fine," Draco agreed. "I have left for the moment to deal with family matters that require my full attention, although I may full well return to sit my NEWTs."

"Yes," she said hesitantly. "Yes, that is proper for a man of your status." She paused, looking out of the window as if she would be able to see her daughter, though they had moved out of sight of her. "Clemence is quite a fine girl, don't you think?"

Draco paused at this strange bid for attention that seemed so unlike what he had come to expect from the quiet woman. Both of Clemence's parents were like that – quiet, self-contained. "She is. I am lucky to be her betrothed."

Something in Caroline seemed to retreat at that. She seemed to be weighing things in her mind, _me_, he realised, and found him just well enough to be acceptable. "Clemence…" she began, and hesitated, casting a wary glance towards the study. "Clemence is young still," she said, and Draco wondered vaguely whether she were going to ask that they not consummate their marriage, but she continued on more smoothly. "She has not seen much of the world. She is innocent to it all, in some respects too innocent. I…" her voice seemed to fail her, and Draco waited patiently for her to regain her courage, "I ask only that you do not treat her cruelly. Do not involve her in the…dark deeds that you may do. Protect her, from yourself as well as others."

A year ago, Draco thought, he would have drawn back in insult and disgust. Depending on the mood he was in, he might have slapped the woman. He wasn't a better man now, he just didn't feel insulted. He felt nothing. He considered her words with a mind unbiased by emotions or preconceptions, and valued what he would be able to do. He would be able to treat her well enough, if indifferently. He would not involve her in the murders and tortures he would undoubtedly perform. He would be able to protect her from others, but from himself? He wasn't quite sure what she meant.

"It is presumptuous of you to ask, and improper to suggest that I would treat her anything less than well," he said coldly, vaguely amused by the way she stiffened. "However, I will endeavour to try, Mrs Moreau," he told her blandly. "I will do as best I am able."

Caroline didn't completely relax, but she looked a little appeased, reassured. The worry still etched her face in deep lines, deepening with each visit. She knew as well as he that his words were only as true as he wished them to be. He might still treat her harshly. He might still go against the woman's wishes, but she had his word, however tenuous and frail it was.

---

Harry woke, feeling a completeness he hadn't seen in weeks. There was no pained ache in his chest that tugged and pulled at him, willing him to find something, see something. For the first time since the dreams had begun, he was whole. Finished. Harry thought that this might be what he would feel like waking to remember that he had defeated Voldemort and lived. Free. He took a moment to revel in the feeling, and wonder why he hadn't done this earlier, why he had fought at every step of the way. If he'd given in, he could have felt this languid bliss near the beginning of term, before Christmas even. He could have been calm, relaxed.

He snorted, feeling happy. Stubbornness was his way, after all.

_Salazar_, he sent through the bond, and wondered at himself. When had Salazar become the person who he would call for first after waking from an enforced and extended sleep? It disturbed him, briefly.

"Good afternoon," said a voice from behind him, and Harry twisted sharply in his bed to face the ghost.

"Hello," Harry murmured drowsily.

The familiar pale eyes widened in surprise, and Salazar approached him slowly, reaching one icy hand forwards to clasp his jaw and tilt his head upwards.

"Your eyes have changed," he observed, a note of approval in his voice.

Harry pulled away sharply, sleep fleeing his mind altogether. "What?"

Salazar smiled. "Conjure a mirror."

Frowning suspiciously at the ghost, Harry did just that, leaning closer to peer at his reflection. To his horror, his previously green eyes had darkened dramatically, leaving them practically black. The last remnant of his mother in him – gone. Harry hissed angrily, the sound obscene even to his ears, but it expressed his feelings quite accurately. There were other changes too – where his skin had been pale before, now it was startlingly so when set against the black of his hair and his eyes. His lips – blackened, darkened. Less red, now strangely grey. To say he wasn't pleased with the changes was an understatement.

"They will fade," the ghost said serenely, perching on the bed beside him. "Once the venom works its way into your system. Your eyes will remain a little darker, I think," he hummed vaguely, reaching a hand forwards, almost touching his face and the dropping it away. "It was the same for myself."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to stay looking like this for the rest of his life, not at all. "The venom," he began, but Salazar cut him off again.

"It is not at your disposal to use as a snake would, however useful that may be," he replied to his unspoken question. "There are spells to force that, but they are not ones you would want to undertake, nor ones that would be beneficial."

Harry didn't reply, and they shared a comfortable silence for a moment, each wrapped in their own thoughts.

"The basiliskos is gone from Hogsmeade," Harry said finally, even though he was aware that Salazar probably already knew. Harry imagined the creature sliding swiftly across forested grounds, exploring, hunting, absorbing magic. Tentatively, he reached for the bond he felt with the serpent and caught a flash of rocks and the scent of the sea. "It's by the sea," he said unnecessarily. He knew that Salazar had already watched the whole thing.

"It will return stronger," the ghost told him, "and you will be able to begin protecting this place in earnest."

Harry nodded vaguely, still caught up with the scent of salt in his nostrils and sand against his scales.

"I should really begin to have a look for other places and mark them out soon," he said thoughtfully. Holding out a hand, he summoned the Book of his plans and flipped to the page where he had drawn a crude sketch of the British Isles and marked with crosses the places he intended to build a base. "Maybe once the others have learnt enough to carry on building…" he frowned at his map, not really seeing it at all as his mind worked. "I could even use the basiliskos to scout out ideal places," he murmured.

"Establish these areas and protect them first," Salazar told him, then hummed a low note. "I believe your friends have finally managed to perform magic during the time that you were laid in bed, although Sirius has been failing abysmally." Harry noted that Salazar sounded more delighted about that than he ought.

Harry's instinctive reaction was to smile and rush out to congratulate them, but then he registered the rest of what Salazar had said. "How long _was_ I out?"

"A week exactly," the ghost replied, uninterested. "Today is Sunday."

"Oh," said Harry intelligently. Yawning, Harry stretched and stepped out of bed, absently commanding his magic to clean him. There was a brief blur of fabric and he was clothed, robes coming directly from his trunk at his summons. It was a handy trick. "There's a lot to do then. I need to see Helena and check how she's managing with the basilisk skin, and Snape to apologise for missing my lesson, and Asher for the swords," he ticked them off on his hands, "and I need to break into the Ministry."

"Pray why would you need to break into the Ministry?" said a disapproving voice from the doorway. "My god, your eyes!" Hermione exclaimed as he turned to face her.

Harry grinned disarmingly at the girl. "It's only for the moment. It'll wear off." His bushy-haired friend looked distinctly relieved, and not a little unnerved. "As for your question, I need weapons permits, and I need to find out how their monitoring equipment works and what it does."

Hermione looked positively scandalised. "You, Mr Potter, are up to no good."

"I love you too Hermione," he replied mischievously. "How are you doing with your magic?"

A faint blush spread across her cheeks, although whether it was from his casual declaration of love or her academic achievements he couldn't tell. "Very well, actually. I hope you don't mind, but I carried on with the kitchen and dining room. I can't work very fast, but Salazar helped me," she said with a wary look to the ghost. His name on her lips sounded odd to Harry, as if she were consciously reminding herself to use it. "Dobby and Winky have been painting the kitchen too."

Harry's looked at her in surprise. "What?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "They're going to be working there aren't they Harry? I told them they have permission to do it up however they like. I think they're doing a fabulous job personally," she said, a little defensive. Harry repressed a groan at the thought of how Dobby would decorate a room. He only hoped that Winky had better taste.

"Right. Uh," said Harry, "good for them."

_I have things to attend to_, Salazar told him quietly. _It is good to see you awake, little one._

Harry spared him a nod as he disappeared, before following Hermione down to the kitchens with an air of resigned despair. Crossing the boundary however, he found himself pleasantly surprised. Granted, the skirting board line was still painted royal blue with purple and yellow spots, but the majority of the room was a pleasant cream colour. Winky sat in the middle, tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration as she frowned at a sheet of parchment.

"Nice décor," Harry commented, and the little elf sprang to her feet in with a start.

"Master Harry sir!" she said with a small bow. "I is hoping Harry sir doesn't mind," she asked tentatively.

"It's nice," he reassured her. "Maybe you could by some floorboards as well…you can buy things can't you?"

"Yes! Winky is doing that sir!" she squeaked enthusiastically.

Ignoring Hermione's disapproving look, he gave her instructions to pick out some nice floorboards to put down, and preferably begin to do up the dining room too. Since Harry had very little idea of what a dining room should look like, and since it was likely the two house elves had more experience than him in that area, he told them to do it up simply and plainly, preferably in a cream or white that wouldn't let the dingy feel of the hillside rooms get too bad. Looking back at the kitchen she saw that Hermione had done a good job of smoothing out his rather rough hack job of the walls until they were flat planes.

"Harry," Hermione interrupted his appreciation of her work. "I've been talking to the Founders about the wards."

"What?" Harry snapped, worried. "You went back to the school? You could have been…been caught!"

A steely look entered the brunette's eyes and she grabbed his arm, dragging him over to the corner of the room. "Sit down and calm down Harry," she said sharply. "In case you forgot, I learnt how to Apparate in the lessons after Christmas. I just need to get my licence now."

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it, embarrassed. "I did forget."

"I know," she replied. "I was speaking to the Founders more, particularly Godric. Nobody saw me. Anyway, I know you told us your plans for setting up the wards and the rooms, but we need some kind of order to do them all in. We can't just go setting up wards one day and casting fluidity spells on the stone the next, all willy-nilly. We'll just end up messing up." Harry nodded in agreement, and watched Hermione formulate her thoughts. She had always been good at this sort of thing. "I suggest we set up the wards first, because obviously we'll want the best protection when we're working on the rest of the base. I looked over your plans for layering them with the Fidelius, and talked about it with Slyth-Salazar," she corrected looking flustered, "and we'll need to do each one separately. From what he says about the old spell formulas, each person can hold around four to five secrets if they're small like the wards. Five is a nice stable number in Arithmancy, so ideally we'd be aiming for that, but that still means we'd need about eight different people to hold the secrets if we want the best protections possible."

Harry rubbed his forehead pensively. Eight different prisoners in the base at all times. Ideally he'd catch Muggles and bend them to his will, subjecting them to loyalty charms, but it was still a lot. Eight extra mouths to feed, eight extra cells, because they couldn't be kept together in case something went horribly wrong and they fought and killed each other. It also meant that if they wanted to start the wards soon then he'd have to find around eight of them and construct secure cells before that.

"Salazar told me about your plans for the secret keepers," she said eventually, as if reading his mind. "I can't say I think it's particularly humane, but if you use criminals they'll only have been rotting away in jail anyway. It's…war, I guess. The Fidelius works with Muggles, in case you were wondering. I checked."

Harry shot her a grateful smile. "I need to find a maximum security prison then," he mused. Hermione shrugged vaguely.

She seemed to have taken his short stint out of action as an invitation to research the wards to their full extent and act as an intermediary between the Founder's knowledge and what was available in the present day. She had practically devoured the information in Hogwarts library, using Dobby and Winky to 'borrow' the books for her, and the list of wards she thought would be useful were extensive. She handed over her pages of research on modernising some of the older spells with a note of embarrassment, but to Harry they were a golden gift. This was the kind of stuff that would have taken him weeks to compile and work out.

Distantly, he wondered whether it would be more sensible to get professional Curse Breakers or Warders in. After all, they were only children. Admittedly, they had the help of four of the greatest wizards in their country, who had the benefits of thousands of years of accumulated knowledge, but they didn't have the skill or finesse required. He frowned pensively. Ron's brother Bill was a Curse Breaker, and a good one if the fact that he worked for Gringotts was any indication. The goblins only hired the best, after all. If he could be convinced to help them, perhaps check over the wards and their plans and point out the holes in them…well, all the better. But was it worth the risk?

"What do you think about asking Bill for some help with the wards?" Harry asked finally, breaking the silence between them.

Hermione looked considering. "It would help I suppose," she admitted. "And he probably knows other professionals."

Harry nodded as she mirrored his thoughts. "I don't think we'll be able to make a safe-house strong enough to keep Voldemort and all his Death Eaters out if we're just relying on ourselves and four wise, but old witches and wizards to build the wards."

Hermione smiled faintly. "It does seem a little unrealistic, doesn't it?"

Harry chuckled. "For some reason I thought all this was going to be a lot easier than it actually is. Just find a place, cast the Fidelius and a few wards and magical masks up, and then sit back and relax."

His friend's smile became broader, and she looked at him fondly. "Nothing's ever easy where you're concerned. Tell Ron about the idea, and we'll see if he can contact Bill."

Harry nodded decisively. "Right," he muttered. "Now you've started to learn to use your magic, how about I try and teach you how to Fade? That way we're not all cooped up in here, and you can escape places if you need to."

Hermione regarded him with a raised brow. "What about you then? I think you need to learn how to Apparate."

Harry cast a surprised smile at her. "Perfect," he said.

---

Harry had been pleased to see that both Helena and Asher were progressing well with their various tasks, although Asher reminded him with a stern expression that he would need to get the Ministry permit for the other blades he wanted soon. Snape had been less than happy or polite when Harry went to apologise to him, but he'd shrugged it off. Making a round trip to the Diagon Alley Menagerie, he'd picked up some more food for the snakes and hippogriff. With the basiliskos departed it left only Anguis and the rather dim little creatures he'd bought to experiment on, but it had certainly put the hippogriff more at ease. The poor animal had been positively cowed by the ancient serpent.

Heading back to the Hogsmeade base, Harry considered the snakes he'd bought. He'd been meaning to experiment on them in his spare moments, but recently there hadn't been any spare time at all. In fact, he had to try and make time for himself to do everything he needed to. Not for the first time, he wished he had access to a Time Turner. Perhaps when he raided the Ministry…no. He didn't particularly want to mess with an object that could be faulty, not when he was doing so well now. He imagined what a time-based splinch would be like and winced. Not something he wanted to dabble in…not really.

Over the previous evening he had taught his friends to Fade, and learnt to Apparate from Hermione. Having direct control over his magic, he found it easier than he would ever have supposed, and likewise his friends succeeded relatively easily. The girls by far had the best grip on their magic, with Hermione accelerating ahead of all them. She had been practising at every opportunity she'd had after she'd first 'created light', and although she didn't seem to have an innate skill for the manipulation of it, as with everything her endless work won out. Ginny on the other hand had fallen relatively easily into it, falling back onto what Rowena had taught her.

The real surprise for him, though it shouldn't have been, was Opa. Because she had been using the magic in her Spectre blood since birth, she'd acquired the most skill out of all of them, and Harry saw that in the future she would outstrip him in the way she felt so comfortable with her magic. He might have superior power to draw on, but already her small spells and conjurations had a finesse and precision to them that his lacked entirely. It reminded him that he would have to work far harder to be able to last in a duel against Voldemort or even Dumbledore.

The real trouble was Ron. He was facing magic in the way he always did – with laziness. It wasn't that he wasn't in awe of what he was now able to do, it was simply that he had been raised with magic, and even wandless magic didn't seem that special to him. He did well when he tried, but he wasn't really trying. It worried Harry somewhat.

However, all of this was overshadowed by his excitement for the following day. On Tuesday, he would be travelling once again to Mercury Avenue to finally have his meeting with Master Reed. He could feel Salazar's own anticipation radiating faintly down the bond too, and smiled. The ghost may be a thousand years old, but his passion for his favoured subjects hadn't decreased in the slightest, and he was eager to discover what changes had been made since his time. He was on the brink of beginning something truly fantastical, despite all the troubles going on around him, and it all depended on how the next day played out.

---


	89. Master Reed

---

The rising sun found Harry sitting in the front cave of the Hogsmeade base, sipping a mug of coffee that Winky had brought him and contemplating the day ahead of him. He had no doubts that it was going to be trying, not in the least because he had to convince Master Reed that what he was doing was worth his while, and possibly end up compelling the man to obey him if he seemed reluctant. This _wasn't_ something he could screw up – the building of the island was very important to his plans; it was going to be a haven, a place where people could rest and know that they were safe, a place that those in danger could breath a sigh of relief when they reached. He'd talked about it a lot with the Founders, friends, and thought about it in his own time. It would take a hell of a lot of work, but each success would make it all worth while.

More importantly than that, it would be a home.

Harry considered the idea with a warm feeling in his chest. He would have somewhere that he could finally call his own. Somewhere that he'd built with his own two hands, which would live through the ages. He didn't have a particularly positive view of his life expectancy, but at the moment he let himself consider, just distantly, that he might live long enough to have a family. Someone he could pass his home onto, and people he loved. The idea seemed gloriously impossible, but it was nice to daydream once in awhile. After all, a life without dreams was not a life at all.

Considering Master Reed, Harry really didn't know what he was going to expect. From talking to the sales witch in Mercury Avenue during his first trip there he'd gleaned that the man certainly had skill and a reputation to go with it if he had worked on the Malfoy Manor, but aside from that he hadn't learnt much. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the man was going to be rather elitist in some respects, if he truly hadn't taken on another job since the Malfoys. He was certain that if Salazar took control he would have no problems dazzling the man, but Harry wanted to be able to achieve it by himself, impress the man that would, to all intents and purposes, be building his permanent home.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. There was just so much to do.

"Worried, little one?" asked a melodic voice from behind him.

Harry sighed. "You know I am."

The ghost settled beside him, looking out over the misted landscape still shrouded in the pale light of the morning.

"There is much for you to do," Salazar conceded.

"Too much," Harry whispered, "Far too much. But I feel excited about this island though. It's all finally happening."

He felt more than saw the ghost slant his gaze over to him. "Indeed it is. What are you planning to tell Master Reed?" There was a slight sardonic twist in the man's voice as he mouthed the word 'master'. Harry chuckled.

"You don't bow to anyone, do you Salazar?" he asked. The ghost smiled.

"Why would I ever need to?"

"Good point," Harry conceded. "I don't know what I'm going to say to him," he continued. "I figured I'd just play it by ear. I won't know what to do before I see what he's like."

"It's not wise to go into such a delicate situation such as this without forethought," Salazar cautioned.

Harry tore his eyes away from where they strayed over the village of Hogsmeade and the tiny figures just beginning to move around, turning to his mentor. He looked strange, almost non-existent silhouetted against the faint morning light. As if he were fading into the sky. "What do you suggest I do?"

Salazar shrugged eloquently. "Consider what lengths you are willing to go to in order to convince the man. What are you willing to reveal to him of your plans?"

Harry frowned. These same questions had been troubling him too. "I suppose it's pretty obvious that I'll have to tell him it's a project of a large scale, and when I tell him that it needs to be able to resist erosion by the sea, he's probably going to assume I'm building an obsidian castle on the cliffs or something."

Salazar's lips twitched. "It will be necessary to reveal your whole plans eventually, although I suggest you do so gradually until you believe there is no way that he can betray the information."

Harry hummed. "I guess I'll have to bind him by contracts and vows," he guessed. He hadn't considered that before. In fact, looking back he hadn't considered much at all. Merlin he'd be so lost without Salazar, floundering to stay afloat in problems of his own devising.

"I would give careful consideration to what Vows you want him to take, and remember that an Unbreakable Vow is one not many wish to take," he finished, and Harry could feel a hint of amusement radiating down the bond.

He snorted. "Not surprising really. Who'd want to die if they messed up or made a mistake? Not to mention if someone rips the information from their mind."

"Indeed."

Salazar paused, watching something over his shoulder, and moments later Anguis slithered into view, head butting Harry's arm until he let the snake coil around him once more.

"_I was cold,_" the snake mumbled grumpily, and promptly tucked its nose into his shirt and went back to sleep. Harry laughed, feeling the coils vibrating from it. They constricted once in annoyance, and Harry forced himself to stop.

"I do believe your pet is feeling protective," Salazar observed with a hint of a smug smile on his lips. Harry raised an eyebrow to show him his disbelief.

"Anguis hardly gets protective," he muttered.

"Yes, but since the basiliskos has left he has been pining for company," Salazar told him, silvery eyes meeting his own. "He was quite distraught at the fact that both his close companions had abandoned him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I was unconscious," he reminded the ghost. "Never mind. What about these vows then?"

Salazar turned away, looking back over the landscape. "Ideally you would bind him under and Unbreakable vow, but they have to be felt from the heart to work, and I doubt that he will be so obliging. The discovery of your real identity may make him feel he has been duped."

Harry stared glumly down at the ground. "I could always just intimidate him."

Salazar chuckled. "And have him sabotage your work?"

Harry looked up with a crafty half smile. "Want a body to control for awhile? When's your birthday?"

The ghost looked down at him, lingering surprise on his features. Harry guessed that hearing everything as thoughts first rather took the surprise out of most things. "As much as the gesture is appreciated, I will not be roped into controlling a puppet and doing his work for him."

"I know," Harry admitted. "He's going to get suspicious either way of someone building an island that has practically fortress-like protections out in the middle of the ocean anyway, without him waking up with big blank spots in his memory." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, awkward because of the heavy coils around him. "There isn't an easy way to do this, is there?"

Salazar smirked, anticipatory. "Not at all, unless you discover that he is a lifelong fan of yours."

Harry groaned.

---

As it turned out, Master Reed wasn't a fan of much at all. The man was sort of stringy, Harry thought, all leanness and wiry form, quite short, with a sensible mop of dark brown hair and muddy eyes, with a rather nasal voice. He wore rather old fashioned, plain robes and carried himself with a hint of self-importance. He was also astoundingly offensive.

"I came here today thinking that I had been offered a proposition worthy of my time," he said, eyeing Harry with a shrewd look, "and instead I find a child."

Harry raised an insulted eyebrow. "Perhaps I've come to the wrong man then," he replied icily, "I had thought you were one of the most skilled Stone Crafters there was. It seems I was mistaken."

"Perhaps," the man replied, taking a seat just as Harry got up to leave, "it would be best if you told me what it was that you needed done. I was under the impression that it was something of a large scale."

Harry sighed, resettling himself. He had a feeling that this was going to be just as difficult as he thought it was. "All right," Harry said, somewhat grudgingly. Master Reed seemed to have made a rather abrupt turnabout in his attitude, and it took him by surprise.

Reed looked at him uncaringly. "We can iron out the specifics later, but I will need to know what sort of scale you are planning to work on, and, of course, whether you have the finances for such an operation."

"I have the finances," Harry said, unfolding a Gringotts statement he'd had the foresight to request in the name of Tom Grey, sliding it across to him. "That, I believe, will cover the costs of the stone and more, if not your personal fee."

Reed nodded sharply, scanning the paper with approval. "My personal fee is negotiable with each set of spells I perform." He glanced at him, passing the statement back. "You run out of money, and I leave you with what you have."

Harry nodded. He would really need to look into making some investments in the future. He had enough funding for the moment, but not enough to cover nearly all the construction costs of the island, let alone the other spending he would undoubtedly do. He would be poorer than the Weasleys at the end of it all. "That's fine," he replied.

"The sales witch seemed to be convinced that this was something of a Hogwarts-like venture," Reed said smoothly. "I will need to know the specifics."

Harry nodded with a pensive frown. This was the point that things began to get difficult. "I will tell you of it up to a certain point, but I am afraid that the rest of it will have to be under contract and Oath."

Reed didn't even blink at that. Harry guessed it was common procedure. "Understandable."

Harry stopped himself from nodding again, and tried to focus on being quietly confident. He certainly didn't feel like it at the moment. "It will be on a similar scale to Hogwarts," Harry confirmed, "with at least as strong magic protecting it." He watched Reed's eyes narrow, but the other man remained silent, waiting for him to continue. "I will need every protection available, and a complex weave of other spells too."

"And the stone?" Reed asked.

"Obsidian," Harry replied. "It needs to be able to withstand the sea."

Harry watched the man stare into the distance in contemplation, and on the edges of his magical senses he could pick up stray thoughts as he ran over the vague idea in his head. There weren't nearly as many as he would have expected though, and Harry didn't find himself surprised that the man was an Occlumens.

"You will need to specify _what_ you are building before I am willing to consider the idea," he said finally, with a hint of sarcasm. Harry tried his best not to bristle. This was it, after all. He would have to Obliviate him if he disagreed. Making sure that his magic securely blocked any eavesdroppers, Harry replied.

"An island."

Reed's eyes widened dramatically, before he seemed to get a hold of himself. "I am not to be toyed with Grey," he snapped back irritably. Harry could fully see why he thought he was being duped.

"I'm not joking," he assured him calmly. "There used to be a habit of creating islands, didn't there? But it's rather gone out of practise. It isn't impossible."

"To create an island you would have to sink stone thousands of metres to reach the sea bed!" he growled. "You are a fool if you think you can achieve what thousands of years of deposition have not."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Then make it float," he said plainly, the idea just occurring to him. It would certainly make it a lot simpler. The man spluttered.

"I am not interested in jests," he repeated. Harry repressed a sigh.

"I told you," he reminded him, "I'm not joking. If you can't do it, I'll find someone else, who is probably a little less skilled and we'll go our separate ways." Of course, he didn't intend to leave the man with the knowledge of his plans or anything more than an unsuccessful meeting, but there was no need to tell him that.

He got what he realised was the rather unique privilege of seeing Master Reed gape at him for a moment, opening and shutting his mouth before he seemed to remember himself. "Don't be dense," he snapped back, eyes a little distant, "if this is what you really intend to do, then there is no better man than me. I am not the top of my field for nothing, and anyone less would not be able to complete this task nearly adequately."

Harry's pupils contracted in frustration at the man's manners, but at least he seemed amenable to the idea. "Good," Harry replied promptly. "But I would like to stress that your discretion in this matter is absolutely necessary. If it comes to finding someone else with a little less skill and a little more secrecy there is really no choice."

Reed looked positively insulted at the idea that he might not be able to hold his silence. "I will have you know," he said pompously, "that every one of my contracted works has been exercised with complete confidentiality. I am skilled enough to protect my mind and repel those who might steal the information, and there is a company policy of removing certain of the memories if the construction is of great importance. No, no, I am the only man for the job."

Harry couldn't help be a little shocked at his self-assurance, but shrugged it off. If he really was as good as he said then it would be worth it. _He_ wasn't the one who trusted someone else to remove important memories. "Good," Harry repeated. "Then perhaps we can discuss the contracts and Oaths before we go into greater detail."

They spent nearly an hour haggling over the contracts without even speaking of money, settling on a policy of secrecy tied by several minor Oaths and one major one. In the end Master Reed ended up closing more loopholes than Harry did, although an icy touch on his shoulder told him that Salazar had watched over the proceedings carefully. He input a few suggestions, and soon Harry had what he thought was an airtight contract and a man under several vows of silence and co-operation. He blanched slightly at the idea of not revealing the identities of anyone assisting him or seen whilst working, but Harry assured him that it was 'a family thing'. Harry himself had to go under one oath to prevent him leaking out some of the techniques the man would be using, and similar information, but in the end they had an agreement that both of them approved of.

"Excellent," Reed hummed with satisfaction. "Now, outline to me what basic plans you have, and I will look over them."

Harry nodded and removed the Book from the pocket of his robes, laying it on the table. He'd prepared for this eventuality by making all other pages than those relevant blank, and he directed Reed to the beginnings of his ideas. He watched the Stone Crafter's expression change from incredulously raised brows to one of frowning concentration as he was absorbed by Harry's notes.

"You don't mention anything about making it float here," he said finally, gesturing to the Book.

Harry shrugged. "It only occurred to me recently, but it's simpler than manipulating stone at the bottom of the ocean," he said flatly. _Or messing with lava,_ he added silently. Godric's suggestions had been interesting but…daunting.

Reed hummed, unconvinced. "Well Mr. Grey," he said, sliding the Book back to him, "it's going to be a very time consuming project. It's not impossible," he said with a hint of doubt in his voice, "but it's going to be…revolutionising."

Harry raised his brows questioningly.

"Many of these spells and wards," he said gesturing to the Book, flipping it back open, "will need to be structured very carefully, even more so since you are using obsidian." He frowned. "I would prefer you to be absolutely sure that you want to use obsidian," he said "There are many other rocks that could easily take the place that are both considerably cheaper and easier to work with."

Harry paused to think that over. The man obviously knew his stuff, and he'd take his advice if he thought the change was worth it.

"Obsidian has the allure of being a very visually pleasing rock," Master Reed continued with a hint of disdain, "but that is a poor reason to use it."

Harry looked up sharply, catching the appraising look in his eye. "I didn't choose it because it looked pretty," Harry said. "I wouldn't care if the island was made out of dung if it still worked as effectively."

Reed snorted. "Crude, but your point is made," he muttered.

Harry frowned, drawing on what he remembered of Salazar's advice during his last visit. "I was under the impression that obsidian is one of the most long-lasting options."

Master Reed nodded shortly, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he looked at him. "It can last a millennia or more, for spells. However, it isn't going to stand as long as other rocks against the elements, particularly the sea."

Harry nodded. "But there are spells that can protect it, aren't there?"

"There are," Reed conceded the point, "but salt water interacts strangely with magic. It is one of the reasons that Azkaban is situated out in the ocean rather than on land. Wizards do not work well at sea," he said with distaste. "There are, naturally, ways around the problem, but weaving them through the rock will be difficult. Perhaps," he paused, "it would be more practical to ask how long you wish this island of yours to last rather than what rock you wish to use. The two are intrinsically linked."

"I want it to last for as long as possible," Harry replied immediately. "I also want spell decay to stay at a minimum."

A hint of wariness appeared in the man's eyes. "I see that many of your wards are Dark in nature," he said with a nod to the Book.

"Yes," Harry said unfazed, "and Dark magic decays at a greater rate than Light."

"Indeed, it is why the Dark fortresses and castles have not lasted into our age," Reed agreed.

"I was under the impression that once they would only decay at a minimal rate when fastened to a stone," Harry continued, silently grateful that the man's passion for his new project seemed to outweigh his suspicion.

"And obsidian would hold them the best out of all the stones," Reed mused, "except for perhaps black diamond, but that is out of even your league."

Harry definitely agreed with that. He wasn't rich enough to go about making an island out of black diamond when he could do just as well with obsidian. Black diamond was just…ludicrously excessive.

"Do you think that it would be the best for what I want to do?" Harry asked finally, when the Stone Crafter appeared to have no incentive to continue.

"Yes, it would indeed," he said. "But perhaps…" he paused looking vaguely at the pages of the Book.

"Yes?" Harry prompted.

"I am considering the possibility of creating a layer of a more durable rock over the surface of the island, or at least where the sea will eat away at it," Reed told him. "It would make it stronger. You would use obsidian for the base and other rocks for different purposes. A layer of black diamond would help protect it, and would make the spells surrounding the island truly formidable."

He raised his head, looking at Harry as if seeing him for the first time. "I am not usually a man with prejudices Mr. Grey," he began, and Harry got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "I pay little attention to politics; business is business after all, but I have a feeling that this job will give me no inconsiderable amount of unwanted attention."

Harry didn't deny it, he merely waited for the man to draw his own conclusions.

"For a…project this large, it would suggest that you or whoever you are working for is a rather important figure," he said finally, all hints of the slightly arrogant man gone, and in his place one who was trying very hard not to alarm his customer.

"I am," Harry replied slowly, wondering just how to phrase his reply. "But this," he said tapping the page, "is not for conflict. It's a sanctuary. I follow the Light," he finished, lying through his teeth. In the political sense, he followed the kinder principles of the Light side, but magically speaking it was a gross overstatement.

Reed regarded him for one long moment, seemingly struggling with himself as the previously ignored implications of an island surfaced. "I am happier thinking that you are building a family heirloom for future generations Mr. Grey. Please don't displace that notion." He firmly pulled the Book back over, frowning at one of Harry's diagrams thoughtfully.

Harry nodded in respect for the man's decision. He was sworn to secrecy after all.

_Salazar?_ Harry called out to the ghost.

_Little one,_ he replied. Harry could feel his smirk down the bond, even as he stood invisible.

_The properties of black diamond? What do you think of his idea?_ Harry asked. Reed was certainly a Master, but when it came down to it Harry trusted the Founder's opinion more.

_He has made a valuable suggestion,_ the ghost affirmed. _Black diamond does indeed take to Darker spells the most effectively, although you will not be able to afford the stone without further earnings._

Harry caught the sarcasm in the word 'earnings' and tried hard not to let a scowl appear on his face. _All right. I'll find a way to get more money. But it all seems to make sense so far?_

_Yes,_ Salazar replied calmly. _Although the diamond will need to be selected and cut particularly carefully so that it does not crack or damage, but I can already see in his mind that he is aware of that._

Concentrating on the man's unguarded periphery thoughts, Harry did notice him puzzling over just that. Not for the first time, he wondered how the ghost managed to concentrate on all of those things at once.

_Imagine many conversations surrounding you_, Salazar told him. _Ghosts have no limit on how fast they can process information, similarly to my painting._

Harry nodded unconsciously, and Reed shot him a confused look.

"This seems…viable," he said finally, shutting the Book firmly this time. "You will need to meet me to make more complete plans of the island and go over exactly what you want it to feature, but it is entirely possible, despite what I might have assumed before." He looked up at Harry with an interested expression. "I look forwards to working with you, Mr. Grey."

Harry smiled, for the first time since he'd met the man. "Me too. Is tomorrow all right for sorting out the plans?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," the other man replied, standing and gathering his cloak. "At 2 o' clock. I have an important appointment in the morning."

"Perfect," Harry told him, reaching out to shake his hand. "I'll have a think over what I will need in the island tonight."

"Do," the other man replied, giving him a short handshake and departing swiftly.

Harry followed after him, and when he emerged into the avenue he couldn't help the irrepressible smile that appeared on his face. He stood there in the middle of the road, just smiling.

"_I take it that you are satisfied?_" he heard hissed quietly by his ear.

"Very," Harry murmured.

---

The wedding was a quiet affair. Clemence didn't think she would ever be able to look at the grounds of her home in the same way again, when the memories of the wedding would undoubtedly spring up at any opportunity. Caroline had taken her aside before, eyes suspiciously wet as she looked at her only daughter. Clemence knew the traditions. She tried to smile away her fears like she'd always done when she was little.

Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, a white dress clinging to her, feeling as if she were suffocating under the layers of lace and petticoat. It was a truly beautiful creation, but she looked like a waif in it, pale and tired. Dark rings circled her eyes from sleepless nights. She wondered what her future husband would think. Falteringly, she picked up the delicate silver flower that she had been given as her first Courtship Gift and pinned it to the front of her dress. If she was going to be given away, then she might as well face it with all the might she could.

She helplessly scrubbed away her tears and prepared to make her way to the garden.

Draco stood looking supremely cold and handsome in white dress robes, and she noticed that he had pinned a similar flower to his robes, only in gold. It tugged a shadow of a smile from her.

Various guests had come to the wedding, members of the Malfoy family and of her own. Narcissa, the quiet, stony woman who was soon to be her mother in law. Lucius. Several of his cousins and relatives, whose names she couldn't remember. Her own parents, one set of grandparents, her aunt, two uncles. Her younger brother. Laurent, her older brother. She almost cracked when she saw him, his usually confident face transformed with worry. He'd given her a supporting nod and she'd taken courage.

The ceremony itself was simple. They said their vows, and she felt their magic swirling around them, clasping, joining, and entwining. There was something else, something insidious creeping into it, so that she gasped and tried to pull away, but his dry palms held hers in his grasp, and then she couldn't feel anything else, no matter how she concentrated on that peculiar twist to the magic. It ended, and they left one hand in the others grasp. The Warlock conducting the wedding tied an emblematic bracelet around each their hands, linking them.

The party and dinner were tedious. Guests talked to them, tried to impress them with their hints at the wedding gifts and praised them on the union of two strong families. What a union! Clemence hated it, but she looked at her family around her, all so worried for her in her new life, and Laurent, sitting at the end of the table, watching her with a seriousness she had never seen him wear. The bracelets chafed as she tried to eat, and she was unsettled every time Draco adjusted his grip on her hand. She hated it, but she understood that she wasn't strong enough to fight her way out of it, not now.

The ring on her hand was a band of clear crystal, glittering in the sunlight.

When the guests left, they bade their farewells to her home of nearly sixteen years and Apparated to the Trans-Oceanic Floo. They stepped into the large hearth together, ignoring the congratulations of the unknown witches and wizards waiting in line, and Draco wrapped his other arm around her. She tried her best to remain passive, accepting.

They returned to Malfoy Manor in a series of quick Apparition jumps, and a house elf showed them to their wing of the house. Their wedding night was quick and functional, and afterwards they rolled onto opposite sides of the bed, bracelets still joining them together.

This is my life from now on, Clemence reflected emotionlessly. She wasn't sure what to make about that idea.

---


End file.
